


Little Talks

by iliura



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Timelines, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, POV Alternating, and that's not a euphemism, excessive use of sticky notes, oikawa and iwaizumi spend a lot of time in a closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliura/pseuds/iliura
Summary: Upon moving to a new home, Iwaizumi Hajime discovers a profound connection with the mysterious boy that leaves sticky notes in the closet.While trying to cope with the stress of his living situation, Oikawa Tooru finds comfort and solace in the boy who responds to the sticky notes that he leaves in the closet.Some bonds are so strong, they can transcend time.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 89
Kudos: 233





	1. Iwaizumi

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! I'm back with a story that's not BokuAka (I know, crazy). 
> 
> This story is based _very_ loosely on the plot of the movie "Your Name" (Kimi no Na Wa). If you've never seen it, I highly recommend you go watch it. It's absolutely beautiful. However, you don't need to have watched it to understand this story. 
> 
> This story operates with an alternating timeline, so chapter names will be whose timeline we are in so as to dispel any confusion. I've never written a story this way, so it's an experiment for me as well.
> 
> Lastly, this fic is dedicated to @thestarsage. She deserves all the credit for even getting me interested in Haikyuu, and despite BokuAka being my OTP, she successfully turned me into IwaOi trash and for that I am eternally grateful. 
> 
> I look forward to chatting with you all in the comments and seeing what you think of this!

House after house blipped by, barely entering Iwaizumi’s line of sight before it was gone again. He barely took notice of any predominant features; the trees, with their changing leaves, were much more interesting. Splatters of deep, rich red, orange, and the occasional yellow blended together. It was like a painting, and Iwaizumi wanted to admire it. But inside, he felt he related more to the gray sky looming above the trees. 

The van turned, then turned again and slowed to a stop. Iwaizumi knew that meant he and his father had reached their destination, but he made no effort to acknowledge it. His father tapped his shoulder anyway. Iwaizumi removed the earbuds playing his music.

“Do you want to have a look around, or would you rather just start unpacking the van now?” his father asked. 

Iwaizumi glanced out of the driver’s side window and eyed the place he would now call home. It was nondescript, quaint, and altogether unremarkable. “Let’s just start unpacking.”

He and his father climbed out and set forth on their task of unloading their belongings from the back of the moving van. Iwaizumi glanced over his shoulder as his uncle and cousin arrived a short time later, driving his father’s car, which was loaded with a handful of more delicate items. He gave them a small wave, then carried in a large box he was balancing on his hip. 

Despite the serious downsizing Iwaizumi and his father had done before moving, it still looked like there was just too much to fit in their new home. Iwaizumi began carrying the boxes marked with his name to his new bedroom, hoping that moving his belongings would make the overall task seem a little more manageable. 

The bedroom that was his was about as nondescript as the house it was situated in. A single window against the outside wall allowed natural light into the small space. A closet was situated on the inner wall, and the door was wide open. Iwaizumi set down his box and ran his hand along the sliding door for the closet, noting how it was off its track. He fiddled with the door until it popped back into its track to slide more easily closed. 

As he padded down the steps to collect more belongings, he heard his father and uncle speaking in hushed voices in the living room. 

“How is he holding up?”

“He’s certainly more distant than usual, but he’s coming around. I just hope moving was the right choice.”

“I don’t think staying in that house would have been beneficial for either of you.”

Iwaizumi cleared his throat to alert them of his presence. They unceremoniously ended their discussion, and his father gave him a sympathetic look. 

“We were thinking something simple for dinner,” his father said, gesturing between himself and Iwaizumi’s uncle. “How does pizza sound?”

Iwaizumi shrugged and grabbed a few more boxes. “I’m not really hungry, but that’s fine. Let me know when it’s here. I’m going to start unpacking my room.”

He ascended the steps and entered his bedroom, clicking the door shut behind him. It crossed his mind that he should probably try to show some more enthusiasm, but it wasn’t like Iwaizumi wanted to be here. Moving hadn’t been his idea and he hadn’t wanted to leave, but he had wanted to be sympathetic to his father’s feelings. 

Iwaizumi sighed and looked around his new room. He decided he would try to be a little more understanding, even if he really did hate this new place. He ripped the tape off a box on the floor and began pulling his belongings out.

The first box he opened was full of his clothes. He grumbled because hanging and organizing all of his clothing was probably the most time consuming task he had ahead of him. With another sigh of resignation, he slid his closet door open and began hanging clothes on the rack inside. 

Iwaizumi stared at a tote full of summer clothes in the middle of his room. His bed was still downstairs, and he figured he would sleep on a futon for the night until he and his father could reassemble his bedframe, so it wasn’t like he could hide the tote under his bed. He glanced inside his closet, hoping that there was some space in the back where he could stick the tote and forget about it until summer returned. 

The closet was deeper than he had expected, but he had already shoved other totes back there to hide them away. He sighed and crawled into the back of the closet, trying to rearrange boxes and bins in a more efficient way. As he clambered around and shoved things in different places, he noticed a brightly colored square flutter to the floor of the closet. 

Curious, Iwaizumi crawled over and picked up the little square. It was a bright green sticky note, and in the dim lighting of the closet, he saw a handful of other notes stuck to the back wall. He curled his legs underneath himself and plucked the notes from the wall, examining each one. As he pulled them off, he noticed that someone had scratched tally marks into the wall. He ran his fingers over them; there were at least forty marks, perhaps more. 

He turned his attention to the sticky notes. Most of them only had one or two words scrawled on them; words like _Important, Special, Valuable._ The note that had fluttered to the floor was the only one without a word on it. Instead, it had a little doodle of an alien. Iwaizumi smirked at the drawing.

He was pulled from his closet adventure when his father called for him, announcing the arrival of their dinner. He crawled out of the closet, sticky notes still in hand, and set them on his dresser before he went downstairs.

______________________

Iwaizumi distracted himself from his nerves by chasing the dried leaves that skittered across the sidewalk. He liked the way they crunched under his shoe, and it reminded him of going for walks with his mother on autumn days when he was a child.

Thinking of his mother eased his nerves as well, but not enough for him to dwell on her. He didn’t want to get too emotional before he met his new classmates.

He crossed the street and entered the gates to his new high school. Students were milling about, chatting amongst themselves as they made their way inside the building. Iwaizumi was supposed to meet with the principal so he could be shown to his homeroom and introduced. He followed the signs to the main office and stepped inside, waiting patiently for the principal to come out of his office. 

As he walked with the principal through the hallways, Iwaizumi tried to ignore the sideways glances other students sent him. He hated feeling like he was being scrutinized, and while he was sure the other students were just curious about him, he still felt self-conscious. Despite this, he kept his head high and walked with squared shoulders. 

The principal introduced him to his new class, and he bowed slightly then took his seat. He was grateful that the seat his teacher had made for him was near the back of the classroom; he didn’t feel quite as exposed this way. 

He was fiddling with a notebook in his bag when the student that sat in front of him turned in his seat and placed his elbows on Iwaizumi’s desk. Iwaizumi glanced up to meet the eyes of his new classmate, who was grinning mischievously at him. From his peripheral, Iwaizumi noticed the student sitting directly to his right had also turned and taken notice of him. He sat up in his chair and straightened out his uniform shirt. 

The boy in front of him waved his hand slightly, then tucked it back under his chin. “What’s up?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Um, not much I guess?”

The boy to his right snickered. “Ignore him.” He shifted in his seat and pushed some of his messy black hair from his face. “I’m Matsukawa Issei, but you can just call me Mattsun.” He pointed to the boy still smirking at Iwaizumi. “That’s Hanamaki Takahiro. But you can just call him dumbass.”

The boy in front of Iwaizumi guffawed. “Mattsun, rude! You can call me Makki. Your name is Iwaizumi, right?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “That’s what I said when I introduced myself.”

“He wasn’t listening,” Mattsun chided. 

Makki shrugged. “It’s true, I wasn’t. Anyway, where are you from Iwaizumi?”

“I moved here from Tokyo.”

“Wow, big city boy.” Mattsun grinned and winked at Iwaizumi. It was a strange gesture, but something about it still caused the corners of Iwaizumi’s lips to quirk up. He pressed his lips together to suppress a smirk. 

“I went to Tokyo once,” Makki said, tapping his fingers on the desk in thought. “But all I really remember about it was the girl sitting in front of me on the train.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Mattsun asked, furrowing his brow a bit.

Makki pursed his lips. “Bad.”

Mattsun snorted and Makki broke out into a silly grin. Iwaizumi couldn’t help but smile a bit himself, and he relaxed into his chair as Makki and Mattsun continued to banter back and forth before their teacher started class. 

“Why did you move here from Tokyo?” Makki asked around his sandwich. The three of them were sitting in the courtyard for lunch. 

Iwaizumi picked at the rice in his bento. “Well, my mom got really sick about a year ago, and then she passed away recently. So my dad wanted to move somewhere else. I guess because he didn’t want to be reminded of her or something.”

Makki and Mattsun both set their food down. Makki’s shoulders had drooped a bit, and Mattsun was frowning. 

“Sorry,” Makki mumbled. 

“That really sucks,” Mattsun added. 

Iwaizumi shrugged one shoulder and took a bite of his rice. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Well,” Mattsun said, returning to his own lunch, “it’s not exactly an exciting place, but this town is nice. We can show you around after school if you want?” 

Iwaizumi frowned. “Um, I have something to do after school today. But maybe tomorrow?”

Makki nodded enthusiastically. “Sure! It’s not like we have anything better to do!”

It didn’t seem like a joke, but they both laughed at Makki’s words. Iwaizumi just shook his head and smiled.

______________________

“I’m home!” Iwaizumi called as he entered. He slipped his shoes off and set them in their place, then padded into the kitchen to get something to drink. His father and a young woman were sitting at the table.

“Good afternoon, Hajime-kun,” the woman said. She smiled softly and tucked a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear. 

“Good afternoon, Shimizu-san,” Iwaizumi greeted. He bowed slightly to her then opened the fridge and pulled a water bottle from it. He sat at the table with Shimizu and his father. 

“How was your first day?” his father asked. 

“It was good. I think I made a couple friends. They seem nice.” Iwaizumi sipped his water bottle and twirled the cap on the table. 

“That’s wonderful,” Shimizu said. She was holding a clipboard, and she jotted a few notes down. “How do you feel about the move? Is it any easier now that you’ve been here for a week?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “It’s a little easier, I guess. I still miss Tokyo, but I think it will be better now that I’ve started school and am making new friends.” He noted how his father visibly relaxed, which pleased Iwaizumi. He didn’t love his new home or school – in fact, he resented moving at all – but he knew his father was trying to do what was best. And besides, his father was grieving too. He needed to be sensitive to that. 

Shimizu nodded and set her clipboard on the table. “Hajime-kun, I would love to see your new room. Would you mind showing me?”

Iwaizumi shook his head and stood from the table. He led Shimizu up the stairs and into his room, which was finally all put together. He knew what she was doing; this was how she was separating him from his father so he could be honest about his feelings. It wasn’t the first time she had done something like this. Back in Tokyo, she would typically ask Iwaizumi to take a walk with her or if his father could get them something to drink. 

“I’m surprised you traveled all the way here from Tokyo,” Iwaizumi commented as they entered his bedroom. 

“For our first session after you moved, I wanted to see you in person,” Shimizu replied. “After this, we’ll only meet in person monthly. Otherwise we’ll meet via videocall.” 

Iwaizumi nodded and sat on his bed. He gestured to his little room. “Well, this is it.”

“It’s very cozy and organized,” Shimizu said as she took a few steps around to observe. “You kept the setup from your old room as best as possible, I see.”

“I guess I wanted something familiar.”

She nodded. “I understand that. How are you coping with the differences?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “I mean, it’s hard. This place is much quieter than Tokyo, but that’s to be expected.”

“What about the differences in your family dynamic? How are you coping with it just being you and your father?”

He sighed. “I guess it’s just a day by day kind of thing. Sometimes he doesn’t want to talk, and most of the time I don’t want to talk. But sometimes he wants to spend lots of time together. I think he’s worried about me, and I think he’s worried he’s made a bad decision.”

“Do you think he made a bad decision?”

Iwaizumi thought about the question for a few seconds before answering. “No, not really. I don’t like it, but I think it would be worse back in Tokyo.”

Shimizu nodded. “That’s a very mature way of thinking, Hajime-kun.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“How are you feeling about your mother?”

This question was the worst. The first time Shimizu had ever asked the question was when he had first begun seeing her. It had been shortly after his mother had been diagnosed, and while it hadn’t looked like much had changed, it had felt as if his entire world had come crashing down. He had just responded that he was still figuring it out. 

The second time Shimizu had ever asked the question was during his session after his mother had passed away. He had told her then that he didn’t really feel anything. Apparently, that was normal; Shimizu had said something about denial and the stages of grief. 

He still didn’t totally know how to answer the question. “I miss her.”

“Do you ever express that outside of our sessions?”

“Not really.”

“How come?”

Iwaizumi thought about his mother. He thought about her kind smile and her gentle hands. He thought about how she always laughed at the advertisements in Tokyo when they would walk around the city, and he thought about how she always helped him with his art projects for school because he wasn’t very good at art. He thought about a million other things related to his mother, and the familiar ache in his chest grew and clutched at his heart with cold fingers. 

“It hurts too much.” His voice caught in his throat and he had to cough to move it along. His eyes stung, and he blinked away the discomfort. 

“I know it’s hard to believe this, Hajime-kun,” Shimizu folded her hands in front of herself and sighed, “but it will eventually be less painful. But you have to let that pain out, or it will build up inside of you and come out in ugly ways. It’s okay to cry.”

Iwaizumi nodded and wiped an escaped tear from his cheek. Shimizu turned away from him and examined the picture frame on his dresser. It was a picture of him and his mother from when he was a child. She stared at it for a few seconds, then picked up the little pile of sticky notes that had been left there and forgotten about. 

“What are these?” Shimizu asked, flipping through them. 

“Oh, I found those in the back of my closet. I guess the person who used to live here left them or something.”

Shimizu nodded and set them back on the surface of the dresser. “Well, I hope whoever drew that alien isn’t missing their drawing.” She smiled at Iwaizumi and gestured for him to follow her back downstairs. 

They finished their session, and shortly after Shimizu left, Iwaizumi and his father sat down for dinner. Iwaizumi worked hard to express interest in his father’s day and thoughts, and despite feeling drained, he thought it had been a successful conversation. His father’s spirits seemed lifted, and Iwaizumi had to admit that even he felt a little better. 

After cleaning up from dinner, Iwaizumi sat in his bed and stared at the sticky notes that he’d found in his closet. He let his mind wander to what kind of person may have left those notes, specifically the alien drawing. He wondered what kind of life they had lived and why they left this house. It was a momentary respite from his own reality and grief, and he welcomed it with open arms. 

Absentmindedly, he reached over to his desk and plucked a pen from the holder. He held the sticky note against his hand and doodled a little picture of Godzilla next to the alien. It was the only thing he was remotely good at drawing, so much so that his elementary art teacher had forbade him from making projects based around the giant lizard. She had said something about expanding his creative abilities. He had just started asking for his mother’s help instead. 

He admired his doodle for a moment, but then felt a tug in his chest. For some reason, he felt guilty for messing with someone else’s drawing. He suddenly felt like it wasn’t his place. Still feeling guilty and sort of silly for even caring, Iwaizumi climbed out of his bed and slid his closet door open. 

He crawled around the bins and totes stacked behind his clothes and slid into the tiny back space of the closet. He replaced the sticky notes in the spots he thought he remembered they had come from. The alien (and now Godzilla) note wouldn’t stay on the wall no matter how he tried, so he just set it on the floor. He ran his fingers over the tally marks again, deciding that maybe he would crawl back and count them in earnest someday. 

Feeling silly again, he crawled out of the closet and closed the door. Slipping under the covers on his bed, he clicked his lamp off and stared out the window at the dark sky. He hadn’t been able to see the stars often in Tokyo, but now he could see them clearly. He wondered if his mother could see him from wherever she was in the stars. 

With thoughts of his mother floating through his mind, Iwaizumi closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.


	2. Oikawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly love Oikawa so much and I love writing him. I've enjoyed having him in my other fics, but writing something where he's the focus is so much fun 
> 
> Warning: Oikawa's life is difficult in this fic, and he faces physical abuse. Therefore, anytime we're working within Oikawa's timeline, expect there to be descriptions of abuse. I try not to be graphic because it can be difficult for me to write those things (as someone who has experienced this), but I know it can still be triggering. If it's too much for you, please stop reading. You can always leave a comment on the chapter or message me on tumblr (username: iliura) and I will give you a synopsis of what happened

_Oikawa._

He glanced around the dark world he found himself in, trying to locate where the voice was coming from. He could barely see his hand in front of his face. 

_Oikawa._

Something touched his shoulder, and he jumped. Who was there with him?

_Oikawa!_

He whirled around, trying to find the source of the disembodied voice. Anxiety bubbled in his chest and he stepped back. His back hit a wall. What? Where was he? Was he trapped?

“Tooru!” 

Oikawa jerked out of his nightmare and sat up abruptly. Sweat rolled from his temple, down his cheek, and down his neck. He felt it slide beneath the collar of his t-shirt. He was breathing heavily, and he felt a hand press itself against his chest. 

“Tooru, calm down. It’s just me.”

He looked over to find the source of the disembodied voice from his dream. Kuroo was kneeling on the floor of the small space, holding his hand to Oikawa’s chest and looking at him as if Oikawa had become possessed and started babbling in Latin. 

“Oh,” Oikawa breathed. “Good morning, Tetsu-chan.”

Kuroo frowned. “It’s not morning anymore, Oikawa. I left during lunch hour to come check on you. You missed school again.”

Oikawa sighed and flopped back into his nest of blankets and pillows. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“I told you to stop sleeping in this closet, Oikawa.” Kuroo reached over and ran a hand through Oikawa’s damp hair. “Why didn’t you just call me and come over?”

“It’s safer to just stay here. As long as he doesn’t see me, I’m fine. It’s riskier to try to leave.”

It was Kuroo’s turn to sigh. “If you keep missing school like this, the teachers will begin asking questions.”

“I won’t miss again.”

“That’s what you said last week.” Kuroo reached around Oikawa and plucked a green sticky note off the floor. One must have fallen off the wall in the middle of the night. Kuroo examined it, then grinned. “Since when do you draw Godzilla?”

“What in the world are you talking about, Tetsu-chan?” Oikawa furrowed his brow and sat up, taking the little piece of paper from his friend. He stared at it, recognizing the drawing of an alien he had made earlier in the week. He hadn’t been able to sleep, so he had taken to doodling on a sticky note, but he only knew how to draw aliens and cows being beamed up into UFOs.

He most certainly did not know how to draw Godzilla; at least, not that well. And he also knew with one hundred percent confidence that he had not drawn that Godzilla next to his alien. Oikawa felt his heart leap in his chest. 

“Kuroo! It was the aliens!” He waved the sticky note in Kuroo’s face enthusiastically. 

Kuroo scrunched his nose and snatched the paper from Oikawa. “It was not the aliens, Oikawa.”

Oikawa nodded. “It had to have been! I didn’t draw it!” He pointed at the picture. “Maybe they thought the drawing was a welcome sign! And they came here and drew something from a movie of Godzilla! Maybe that’s all they’ve seen about humans!”

Kuroo placed the sticky note back on the floor and pressed the back of his hand against Oikawa’s forehead. “Are you running a fever?”

“Stop that.” Oikawa swatted Kuroo’s hand away and clambered to his knees to crawl out of the back of the closet. Once he’d emerged, he stripped off his sweaty t-shirt and began to search through his hanging clothes for a new shirt. Kuroo crawled out of the closet and flopped onto Oikawa’s bed. 

“Well, what do you want to do today?” he asked. 

Oikawa glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “Don’t you have to go back to school?” 

“Eh. I already left for the day. I don’t feel like going back.” 

“And you talk about me not going to school. At least I don’t leave halfway through the day.”

“At least I actually show up.”

Oikawa found a new shirt, then dug through his dresser for some pants. “Was anyone here when you came in?”

Kuroo sat up on his elbows. “No.”

“Good. That means my stepdad won’t be home until late.” Oikawa trotted out of his room and down the hallway to the bathroom. He stripped out of his pajama pants and stepped into the shower, humming as the warm water splashed over his face and shoulders. 

Under the spray of the showerhead, he examined the bruises that littered his body. The bruises around his upper arms were fading to a sickly yellow color, which was encouraging. That meant Oikawa would be able to wear t-shirts in his physical education class again. The bruises around his ribs were still an ugly blue and purple, like little galaxies, but not nearly as pleasant to look at. It still ached, also, if he twisted his body too far in one direction or breathed in too deeply. Kuroo had promised him that his ribs weren’t broken, just potentially bruised.

He washed away the sweat that clung to his body and made him feel dirty and sticky. The warmth of the water soothed the knotted muscles in his back as well and helped him relax and destress from the night before. He tried to keep his mind from wandering back to the screaming and yelling that he’d heard as he had crawled into the back of his closet and hid himself away. 

After finishing his shower and pulling on his fresh clothes, he ventured back into his room to find Kuroo sprawled out on his bed. He was holding his phone above his face, tapping away on the screen as he waited patiently for Oikawa to return. 

“Kenma says he’ll bring our assignments home with him,” Kuroo told Oikawa. 

“I owe him so many videogames,” Oikawa muttered. He fussed with his hair for a moment, then flopped down next to Kuroo. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to school?”

“Are you going to come with me?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve already missed most of the day.”

“Then I’m not leaving you here alone. Come on, let’s go to my house so I can change, and then we’ll go get coffee or something.”

Kuroo swung his legs into the air and then back down to propel himself up from Oikawa’s bed. Then he extended a hand to Oikawa and hoisted him to his feet. 

“Bring a change of clothes,” Kuroo instructed, tossing Oikawa’s school bag at him. 

Oikawa caught the bag and raised an eyebrow at Kuroo. 

“It’s Friday, so you can stay the night. Just text your mom and tell her we have a project together. My dad won’t care.”

Oikawa blew gently on his cup of hot cocoa. He used to get coffee all the time, but he found that coffee was terrible for the throat when thrown up. He’d experienced the foul aftertaste and lasting burn one too many times after being repeatedly kicked in the stomach to allow himself to keep reliving it. Hot chocolate was a safer option. 

Kuroo carried a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a large, iced, chocolatey, whipped cream topped, frilly drink in the other. They wandered down the sidewalk toward their high school, passing students heading in the opposite direction of them. 

They slowed to a stop once they saw the gates to the school and waited for Kenma. Oikawa blew on his hot cocoa some more, taking a tentative sip; it was finally cool enough for him to drink. He sipped on it while leaves tumbled down from the trees and across the ground, crunching under the shoes of people who happened to step on them. 

Kuroo’s face brightened and moments later, Kenma emerged from the gates and crossed the street to them. He was carrying a stack of books, and he handed them to Kuroo as he took his large iced coffee and licked some of the whipped cream off the top. Then he turned and gave Oikawa a gentle side hug, careful not to squeeze his sides too tightly.

“All of your assignments are there,” he said, nodding at the books Kuroo was slipping into his school bag. “I told your teacher that you’d had a family emergency and had to leave school early.”

“That’s not technically a lie,” Kuroo remarked as he straightened and slung his bag over his shoulder. He shot Oikawa a small smile, then draped his arm over Kenma’s shoulders to propel him down the street. 

They walked together back to Kuroo’s house, where Kenma separated from them momentarily to run next door and change his clothes. While standing on Kuroo’s porch, they heard Kenma call to his mother to tell her he would be at Kuroo’s for the night, then he jogged through the gate and up the walk to where Oikawa and Kuroo waited for him. 

Inside, Kuroo’s father welcomed the boys with dinner. He patted Oikawa’s cheek tenderly, offering a small look of apology. He knew why Oikawa spent so much time there, and he knew why his son had left school to go check on the other teen. Oikawa just smiled softly and thanked him for the food and hospitality. Kuroo and his family basically adopted him on the weekends; they let him stay as long as he wanted, fed him, took him places with them if they went anywhere, and always told him he could come anytime. It was a nice reprieve from the hell that his home usually was.

Oikawa sat on the couch behind Kuroo and Kenma as they played their thirteenth round of Mario Cart. He glanced down at his phone when the screen lit up, sliding his finger across it to open the text message. It was from his mother, telling him to have a good time with Kuroo and to remember to thank Kuroo’s father. He texted her back and told her to call him if she needed anything. 

Kenma won again, and he smiled smugly at Kuroo as the other flopped onto his back on the floor dramatically. 

“I think you’re cheating, Kenma,” Kuroo whined. 

Oikawa toed Kuroo’s face with his sock covered foot. “Tetsu-chan, you can’t accuse Kenma of cheating every time you lose. Besides, no one can beat Kenma on Rainbow Road.”

“He can’t beat me on any of the tracks,” Kenma remarked. He smirked at Kuroo again and ducked when Kuroo swatted at him. 

“Oh, by the way!” Oikawa said, clapping his hands together. “Kenma, I found a note in my closet this morning!” He jumped up and ran into Kuroo’s room to dig through his bag, producing the little sticky note with the alien and Godzilla drawing. He returned to the living room and jumped onto the couch, thrusting the paper toward Kenma. “Look!”

Kenma took the sticky note carefully and examined it, trying to smooth some of the wrinkles at the corners. He ran his eyes over the drawings briefly, then handed it back to Oikawa. “Did you draw that?”

“I drew the alien, yes, but I didn’t draw Godzilla!” Oikawa pointed to the doodle. “I found it in my closet. The aliens finally contacted me, Kenma.”

“It was in the closet,” Kuroo conceded, “but he must have drawn it in his sleep or something.”

“I didn’t draw it in my sleep!”

“You really believe aliens came down and doodled Godzilla on a sticky note in your closet? You really think, if they exist, _that’s_ how they would decide to make contact with mankind?”

Oikawa touched his chest in mock offense. “Are you saying I’m not important enough to be the one contacted by the aliens, Tetsu-chan?”

Kuroo opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but Kenma cut him off. “I don’t think it was aliens, but I do believe that Tooru didn’t draw Godzilla.”

“Are you running a fever too, Kenma?” Kuroo pressed his hand to Kenma’s forehead. 

“Neither of us are running a fever,” Kenma replied, gently pushing Kuroo’s hand away. “There are things in the world that we can’t explain, Kuro. I think the Godzilla drawing is one of them.”

“I think you’re both crazy,” Kuroo muttered. 

“Kenma, you’re the best,” Oikawa cried, throwing his arms around Kenma’s shoulders from his position on the couch. Kenma patted his arm awkwardly, then squirmed out of the hug.

______________________

Oikawa was roused from his sleep by the buzzing against his pillow. He sat up and blinked blearily at his surroundings, locating the source of the vibration as his facedown phone a few seconds later. He rubbed some sleep from his eyes as he picked the device up and answered the call, mumbling a muddled greeting.

He was met with the sounds of his mother sobbing on the other line. “Tooru, I’m so sorry. I know it’s late.”

“What’s the matter?” All traces of sleep had left Oikawa’s senses, and he was now on high alert. In the urgency of the situation he had forgotten to keep his voice at a whisper, which awoke Kuroo and Kenma. 

“Can you please come home?”

“Are you hurt?” Oikawa crawled out of the futon on the floor and began searching in the dark for his belongings. He managed to find his pants and hurried to take his pajama bottoms off. 

Kuroo clicked on the lamp on his bedside table and ran a hand through his freshly pillow-mussed hair; Kenma sat up and blinked at the light, rubbing his eyes sleepily. 

“Is everything okay?” Kuroo asked. He eyed Oikawa with concern. 

“I have to go,” Oikawa told him. He finished pulling his pants on and grabbed his bag. He had hung up the phone at this point. “I’ll let you know what happened when I get home.”

“Let me come with you.” Kuroo began to crawl out of his bed. 

Oikawa shook his head. “No, please. If you show up and he’s still there, it’ll only make things worse.”

“What if he –” 

“I’ll call you.” Oikawa rushed out of Kuroo’s room and out of the house, hurrying down the street toward his own home. He lived only a few blocks away, and if he hurried, he could make it home in less than ten minutes. 

It was late – or rather, early – so the streets were empty, and the world was quiet. Oikawa could only imagine what was waiting for him at home. He hoped it wouldn’t be too bad, and he also hoped that his stepfather had left. 

Only one of his hopes were answered, though he supposed that was the better option. His stepfather was passed out on the couch in the living room, and Oikawa could almost taste the alcohol on his breath. He gagged as he passed the drunken man, praying that he wouldn’t wake. Oikawa found his mother upstairs in her bedroom, sitting on the bed and patting an ice pack against her swollen eye. 

He knelt down beside her and moved the ice pack to assess the damage. He’d seen worse, but the split on her lip was nasty. He went into the bathroom and pulled out some first aid supplies, then returned and began to clean the blood from her mouth. 

“I’m so sorry, Tooru,” his mother whispered. Her words were muddled around her swollen lips. 

“Then let’s leave,” he replied. He focused on keeping his hands and his voice steady so as not to betray the anger that simmered right below the surface. His mother didn’t need a second person to take their rage out on her that night. 

“We have nowhere to go.” 

“We could go stay with nee-san,” Oikawa muttered as he coated his finger with ointment and ran it over the split in his mother’s lip. “I’m sure Dad would understand if we told him what was going on.”

His mother shook her head. “I can’t make them worry.”

“I think they would rather worry than attend your funeral.”

“Tooru, he would never kill me. It’s my fault anyway.” She looked at her shaking hands in her lap. “I shouldn’t make him angry.”

“That’s bullshit,” Oikawa whispered. He finished patching up her lip and sat back on his heels. “He’s just a monster.”

“He never hurt me when we were dating.”

“That’s how he sucked you in.”

His mother sighed and touched her swollen eye tentatively. Oikawa pushed her hands away. 

“You could go stay with your father, you know,” she said. 

“I won’t leave you alone with him.”

His mother pressed a hand to his cheek, and he couldn’t tell if the shine in her eyes was from tears or just a side effect of having someone punch you in the face repeatedly.

“Go to bed darling,” she whispered. “I’m doing the same. I’m sorry I pulled you away from Kuroo-kun.”

Oikawa shrugged and stood, kissing his mother’s forehead gently then tiptoeing down the hallway to his bedroom. He knew the cycle: in the morning, he would wake to an array of breakfast foods, probably even coffee from a café. His stepfather would beg his mother for forgiveness and promise he would change, that he would seek counseling, that he would never hurt them again. And his mother would cry and forgive him, and then things would be good for two or three days. 

But eventually his stepfather would come home drunk again, and Oikawa would have to either face his wrath or hide in the closet while his mother argued with the man. Oikawa would sleep in there, like he always did, and he would miss his alarm for school for fear of the noise waking his stepfather and incurring more violence. 

Tonight, though, he would have peace. His stepfather would stay passed out, blissfully unaware of Oikawa’s presence, and Oikawa would gladly enjoy a night spent in his own bed instead of the nest he had created in his closet. 

He texted Kuroo instead of calling him, worried that talking would wake the beast. Kuroo clearly didn’t believe that everything was “fine,” and he had every right to be skeptical of Oikawa’s typed message. Everything was not fine, but for tonight at least, they would be okay. 

He was on his bedroom floor before his brain could even comprehend what was happening. As soon as he realized, however, he threw his arms up to shield his face from the blows that were coming. 

Oikawa couldn’t shield the sides of his head, however, from the balled fists that clubbed his ears. He winced and yelped at the pain, pushing the hands away with his own. His resistance was met with a swift punch in the mouth, and he tasted blood on his tongue. 

“That’s what you get for not coming home at a decent hour,” his stepfather hissed. He was clearly still heavily intoxicated, and that was the only thing that prevented him from carrying out a more brutal punishment. 

He smacked Oikawa once more on the cheek, hard and with enough force to send him to the floor. Oikawa flinched and shielded his head and face again, waiting for another blow that didn’t come. Instead, his stepfather staggered out of his bedroom and down the hall.

Oikawa leapt up and pushed his door closed, praying his stepfather wouldn’t turn around and return before he could make it to his hiding place. He slid his closet door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him and turning off the light. Then he crawled behind the piles of boxes and clothes he had strategically placed, curling up into his nest and cradling his aching face in his hands. 

He tried to not hear the yelling and crying just down the hallway. He pulled out his phone and considered calling Kuroo, but it was almost four in the morning and he didn’t want his stepfather to hear. 

A little green piece of paper fell from the back of his phone and fluttered to the ground. Oikawa picked it up. From the light of his phone, he stared at the little Godzilla drawing again. He must have stuck the note in his pants pocket after showing Kenma. 

While wiping gingerly at the tears that trickled from his eyes and trailed down his cheeks, he pulled a new sticky note off and found his pen. He scribbled on it, stuck it on the wall, then picked up another and scribbled something else. He stuck that one on the floor, attached to the Godzilla and alien drawings. Then he curled up under his blankets and tried to find sleep. 

_I am not a coward._

_If you are an alien, please take me away from here._


	3. Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi is a little slow on the uptake.

Monday morning came much too quickly for Iwaizumi’s preference.

He rolled out of bed and smacked his alarm clock, practically throwing it across the desk as his hand demanded it stop its incessant buzzing. He trudged across the room and slid the closet door open, reaching inside to grab his uniform for school. He tossed it onto his unmade bed, then shuffled down the hallway to the bathroom to ready himself for the day. 

His shower woke him up a bit more; he at least felt somewhat human. After he dressed in his uniform, he reached into the back of his closet to grab a bin that held some scarves. He remembered hearing on the news that it would be colder in the mornings, so he figured he would wear a scarf on his walk to school. It’s what his mother would have made him do, at least. 

As he shuffled around in the bin for a scarf, he heard something flutter to the floor with a light tap. Iwaizumi glanced around the bins to see two more green sticky notes lying on the floor of the closet. Confused, he crouched and stretched to reach them, plucking them up from the floor, along with the note he had replaced the week prior. 

Strangely enough, the sticky note with the alien and Godzilla doodles looked like it had been on an adventure. The corners were folded and wrinkled, and the glue strip had officially lost all of its stickiness. Attached to the note, however, was what looked like a freshly pulled sticky note. 

_If you are an alien, please take me away from here._

He looked at the other note that had been on the floor. _I am not a coward._

“What the actual hell…” Iwaizumi muttered under his breath. 

“Hajime, you’ll be late if you don’t leave soon!”

His father calling to him from downstairs grabbed his attention, and Iwaizumi hurriedly stuffed the sticky notes in his pocket and grabbed his school bag and scarf. He ate a quick breakfast with his father before wishing for him to have a good day and leaving.

Iwaizumi kept his hands stuffed in his pockets to protect them from the cold. Consequently, he could feel the sticky notes from the closet. He tried to think of a logical explanation for their arrival, but no matter what avenue of thought he pursued, nothing made much sense. 

Makki and Mattsun picked up on his perplexed demeanor as soon as he slid into his seat in the classroom. 

“You look like Makki when he can’t figure out a math equation,” Mattsun commented, resting his chin in his hand lazily. 

“That’s how I feel,” Iwaizumi replied.

“Damn dude,” Makki muttered, “you must be totally lost then.”

“Can either of you think of any reasonable explanation for mysterious sticky notes showing up in your closet?” As soon as he said it aloud, Iwaizumi felt ridiculous. 

He must have sounded as ridiculous as he felt, too, because both Makki and Mattsun looked at him like he’d grown a second head right before them. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Makki asked. 

Mattsun frowned and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Are you high?”

“No!” Iwaizumi hissed. He fished around in his pocket and produced the sticky notes. “Look at these. I found the alien one in my closet when I moved in, but I added the Godzilla to it. But this morning I found these two.”

Makki picked up the notes and examined them, then handed them to Mattsun when he was finished. “We know you’re just screwing with us, Iwaizumi. You totally wrote these.”

“That’s a pretty impressive Godzilla drawing my friend,” Mattsun commented. He placed the notes on Iwaizumi’s desk. 

“I didn’t write them, I swear.” Iwaizumi pulled out a notebook and flipped to the notes he’d been taking. “Look, this is my handwriting. It doesn’t match at all.” He pulled out a pen and wrote his name with his nondominant hand. “And don’t even say I wrote it with my other hand, because I can barely even hold a pen with my other hand.”

Makki and Mattsun watched him with wide eyes and undivided attention. Mattsun reached over and compared the written notes to Iwaizumi’s messy scrawl. 

“There’s only one explanation for this,” he finally said. He nodded his head resolutely and looked to Makki. 

Makki nodded back, then turned to Iwaizumi with a serious look. 

“Your closet is haunted,” they said in unison. 

Iwaizumi blinked at his two friends. He began to wonder if perhaps he should distance himself from them. “My closet is not haunted.”

“Then how else do you explain it?” Makki asked. 

“Maybe they just got knocked loose while I was moving in.” Iwaizumi pressed his lips together. That didn’t explain why the alien drawing note looked like it had been through hell and back, but he wasn’t about to tell Makki and Mattsun that. He already felt crazy. 

“Hey, how about Makki and I come over and hang out in your closet and find out?” Mattsun suggested. 

Makki clapped his hands excitedly. “Oh! Yes! We can be, like, ghostbusters or something!”

Iwaizumi frowned. “Absolutely not. My dad already makes me see a therapist for my mom, if he finds out my only two friends are coming over to look for ghosts in my closet, he’ll make us move again. Or put me in some facility.”

Makki grinned. “So you admit there’s a ghost in there?”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and shoved the notes back into his pocket.

______________________

A leaf got caught in Iwaizumi’s hair as he ducked underneath a low hanging branch. He plucked it out and crumpled it in his fist. It was so dry that it seemed to disintegrate right in his palm, leaving nothing but little brown specks to fly away on the autumn breeze.

Iwaizumi wondered how long it took for a human body to fall apart like that after it had died. He wondered if his mother had turned to dust yet. 

He shook his head, refusing to let his mind wander to the depths of the earth where his mother was buried. He would only allow himself to think of her in good ways, like when she was smiling and laughing. 

Makki and Mattsun were a few steps ahead of him, leading the way to a local café where they claimed one could get the best chai latte around. Iwaizumi was more of a black coffee kind of person, but he didn’t want to damper his new friends’ enthusiasm. Once they arrived and ordered, they took their seats at a small table in the corner.

“So what are you going to do about the notes?” Makki asked Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Probably nothing. I mean, there’s nothing to do, unless I found the person who left them there. Do either of you know who used to live in the house?”

Makki shook his head, but Mattsun looked thoughtful for a moment. “I remember hearing about someone who lived in your neighborhood about a year ago. Something about an accident, but I don’t really know the details. I don’t know if they lived in your house though.”

“You could probably order one of those electro-something or others from the internet,” Makki suggested. He took a sip of his drink, then hissed and stuck his tongue out. “Hot, hot, hot.”

“What good will something like that do?” Iwaizumi asked. 

Makki twirled his hand in the space between them. “If you can talk to the sticky note ghost, maybe you can find out what they want. You know, put them to rest or something.”

“Or maybe the ghost knows who is writing the sticky notes in the first place,” Mattsun added. 

“I still think we should stop operating under the assumption that my closet or house is haunted,” Iwaizumi muttered.

Mattsun shrugged. “Okay, but don’t come crying to us when you’ve got a ghost feeling your feet up in the middle of the night or something freaky like that.”

Makki snickered. “A ghost with a fetish, huh?”

Mattsun chuckled. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

“What is that supposed to mean Mattsun?”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and smirked as his friends continued to bicker about the complexities of Makki’s sex life. Finally, Iwaizumi was able to redirect their energy into studying, and they spent the rest of the afternoon chatting over math equations and practice tests for college entrance exams. The conversation never veered back toward the mystery of the sticky notes, but it still clung to the back of Iwaizumi’s mind. 

On his walk home, Iwaizumi examined the brightly colored squares again. He wondered if perhaps he was just writing them in his sleep. He wondered if he should talk to his father about it, or perhaps mention it to Shimizu in their next meeting. 

He shuddered when he considered bringing up the possibility of him stress-writing notes and hiding in his closet. His father would most certainly have him committed to some mental health facility. Shimizu would likely talk it out with him before she recommended something like that, but he wasn’t sure if he could handle her concerned glances and probing questions. 

He rounded the corner onto his street. As he crossed over a small bridge, he paused to glance down into the ravine below. Something shiny and colorful fluttered about in the cool breeze, but it was trapped underneath decaying leaves and overgrown grass. Iwaizumi rounded the end of the bridge and carefully toed his way down the incline, sliding into the ravine. He picked through the underbrush until he found the colorful thing again. It was a piece of ribbon, like something one might put on a birthday or Christmas present. 

Digging through the foliage a bit more, he found the end of the ribbon fastened around a rock. Iwaizumi thought that was strange; perhaps it had had a balloon or something like that attached to it. He had seen people use rocks as paper weights for balloons, leading people to birthday parties and the like. But it was strange that someone would put a balloon on a rock underneath a bridge. 

He left the ribbon and the rock there, clambering back up the hillside and resuming his walk home. The image of the colorful string attached to the rock stuck in his mind the way the sticky notes stuck to the walls of his closet. A curious part of him wondered if there would be a new note there. He told himself that he most certainly wouldn’t check. 

His father wasn’t home when he returned, which he had expected. He plopped down into a chair in the kitchen and scrolled through some social media apps on his phone, idly passing his eyes over the random information. He picked through some recent posts from his friends back in Tokyo, and he even had a few messages from them. His finger hovered over the notifications, but he hesitated. 

Opening them would mean he should respond to them, but he really didn’t have anything to say. They would ask him about his new home and his new school, but there was nothing remarkable about either. Iwaizumi would say so, and then his friends wouldn’t know how to reply. 

Not opening them and ignoring them would mean letting walls form between him and his old friends. He was sure they were genuinely curious about his new life, and perhaps they genuinely missed him. He, for one, genuinely missed them. 

But he would be graduating soon, and then he would go off to college. The chances of him maintaining the friendships he had in Tokyo were slim, even if he hadn’t moved. That’s just how high school relationships work, right? It was probably better to just let them fizzle out now; let them fade away so he could freely make new friends once he left this place. 

He closed the apps and set his phone on the table, opting to heat up some leftovers for himself instead. He ignored his phone when it buzzed a few times, focusing instead on the way his soup bubbled in the microwave. 

Upon returning to his seat, he glanced at his phone. Oddly enough, the notifications he had weren’t from old friends back in Tokyo. These were from much more recent, immediate friends that he had, begrudgingly, made. 

_[Hanamaki] https://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Hunting-EVP-digital-recorder/dp/B071RQBSBL_

_[Hanamaki] I found an EVP recording thingy! It’s pretty cheap too!_

_[Hanamaki] I think there’s also some apps you could download, but idk how reliable they are_

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. Of course Makki wasn’t just going to let the ghost in the closet thing go.

_[Me] I could probably get more of a response with a plain old walkie talkie or a baby monitor. There are no ghosts in my closet_

He opened the other message he had, this one from Mattsun. 

_[Matsukawa] I asked my mom about the accident thing I had mentioned earlier. She didn’t know much about it either, but someone definitely got into a nasty accident in your neighborhood. She said they crashed into a ravine. Maybe they died there and are haunting your closet?_

This information was much more interesting, considering Iwaizumi’s strange discovery on his way home from school. He quickly opened his browsing app and typed in his address, searching for any notable news articles. Nothing interesting popped up; the only result he found was a now expired listing for his new home on a real estate website.

He changed tactics and searched for _accident_ and his town. After clicking search, he realized that perhaps his search was too broad: thousands of results popped up. He combed through a few, then added _ravine_ to his search. 

This yielded some viable results. The first couple articles that popped up had nothing to do with his neighborhood, but after scrolling through a few, he found a promising headline. 

_Local teenager involved in nearly fatal crash_

The article was dated for roughly a year prior. He clicked the link, and the first thing that popped up was a picture of the ravine he had just been climbing around in, except the picture also showed a car in the ditch. The entire front end of the vehicle was crunched in, almost as if it had been rammed into the bridge itself or a sturdy tree before rolling into the ravine. The driver’s side door was flung open, and Iwaizumi could see that the windows of the car had been smashed in. Its windshield was completely shattered, little cracks spidering their way across the glass in millions of different directions. 

He scanned the article, but no names were mentioned. The writer said something about the identity of the victim being kept from the public due to their age. It stated that the driver of the car had been transported to a local hospital and they were awaiting confirmation of their status. No other articles could be found about the crash victim or what happened to them. 

Iwaizumi sighed and ran his hand over his eyes then pinched the bridge of his nose. This was slowly becoming an obsession, he could feel it, and it really didn’t matter anyway. Was he so bored with this new place that he was willing to make up insane stories about sticky notes and ghosts and hunt down a person who may or may not be alive just to keep himself busy? 

No, he had better things to do than that. Like study for college entrance exams. 

He swiped away the articles, hoping he could erase them from his memory as easily as he could from his browser history, then finished his soup. He should do some homework before his father got home, so he climbed the steps to his room and sat at his desk. He ignored the tugging feeling at the back of his mind to crawl into his closet and search for more bright green sticky notes. 

It probably would have been easier to forget about the sticky notes thing if Makki and Mattsun weren’t still texting him about it. He ignored most of their messages, especially the links Makki sent for ghost hunting equipment, but enough was becoming enough. 

Perhaps he was brilliant; perhaps he was absolutely, completely, totally batshit crazy. But he knew there was only one way to end this discussion. 

He padded down the steps and slipped into his father’s office. His father’s desk sat against the far wall of the room, facing a small window overlooking the street outside. Iwaizumi wasn’t totally sure why his father even had a home office; perhaps it was to make him feel a little more important in his job. Or maybe it was because it was a convenient place to hide the bottles of hard liquor that he sipped on late at night while staring at the picture of Iwaizumi’s mother that sat on the nearby bookshelf. 

Regardless, Iwaizumi knew that his father kept an impressive collection of sticky notes. He rifled through the desk drawers until he found a stack of them. Why his father only owned purple ones he would never know, but it got the job done. He grabbed a hefty handful of them and ran back up to his room. 

Against all better judgement, he grabbed a pen from his desk and crawled into the back of his closet. After wiggling around the totes that separated the normal part of his closet from the supposedly haunted part, he sat crossed-legged on the floor and scanned the wall. 

He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that the lack of new, bright green notes made him frown a bit. 

He dug into his pocket and produced the squares he had found that morning. Placing them back on the floor, he uncapped his pen and hovered over the little purple square in his lap. What would he write? How was he going to prove that this wasn’t a ghost, just some weird coincidence? Or that he was just really losing his mind and writing these all himself, in which case he most certainly needed to be committed. 

Iwaizumi stared at the notes on the floor before him, then scribbled out his message. 

_Sorry, I’m no alien. Also, aliens don’t exist._

That would work. Even if he were sleep walking and writing to himself, no part of his brain would assert that aliens existed. Because they didn’t. 

He peeled the note from its companions and pasted it to the wall, pressing his hand firmly on the glued part so it would stick. Then he ran his fingers over the tally marks carved into the wall. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight… He counted all the way to fifty seven. 

When he heard his father return home and call him down for dinner, Iwaizumi realized just how ridiculous this whole situation really was. What would he say if his father walked in on him sitting in the back of his closet writing sticky notes to an imaginary friend? 

Iwaizumi scrambled out of the back of the closet, clicked the light off, and slid the door closed quietly. Then he ran down the steps and mentioned none of his strange adventures to his father. 

When he went to bed that night, he honestly had forgotten all about the notes and the closet and the whole ordeal. Makki and Mattsun had ceased bothering him about it, and his father had successfully distracted him with stories from his new job. So when he awoke the next morning and slid his closet door open to grab his school uniform, he wasn’t thinking about sticky notes and closet ghosts. In fact, he spent his entire day not worrying about them at all. Makki and Mattsun didn’t even bring it up. 

He was only reminded that night when he saw the pile of purple sticky notes on his desk. He crawled into the back of his closet and found nothing there. With a triumphant grin, he texted Makki and Mattsun that it was all just some fluke and there was no ghost. 

When he awoke the next morning to begin readying himself for school, he didn’t even bother checking for new notes. That is, until a flash of bright green caught his eye.

He hadn’t moved the bins back, so he could see easily into the back of his closet. Therefore, he could easily see the bright green square now attached to the purple one he had left on the wall.

“This isn’t happening,” he whispered under his breath as he crouched and pulled the squares away from the wall. 

In the light of his room, he could read this new note. And it _was_ new. 

_If you’re not an alien, then you’re a ghost. Also, rude! Aliens totally exist!_

Next to the new message was a little doodle of an angry face with its tongue sticking out. 

Iwaizumi’s stomach dropped to his feet. This was impossible. Literally, physically, scientifically impossible. 

He had written that note very specifically so that there could be no weird or vague notes that perhaps looked like they were a reply. No, he had written it so that a reply (which he hadn’t expected whatsoever) would have to be an actual reply. 

Yet, here he was, holding a reply in his hand. It was attached to his own note, and the handwriting matched that on the other green squares. Someone was actually replying to his sticky notes _from his closet._

He didn’t even eat breakfast, he was so in a rush to get to school. He practically ran there, the scarf around his neck containing his puffs of breath as he bounded down the sidewalks and around corners. He almost tripped over three different people, and he nearly ran into oncoming traffic as soon as he saw the gates to his high school. 

Makki and Mattsun were sitting on a wall near the entrance to the school, lounging back and snickering about something on Makki’s phone when Iwaizumi rushed up to them. They gave him slightly concerned looks as he stopped, doubling over to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath. 

“What happened to you?” Mattsun asked. 

“Did the ghost feel up your feet?” Makki quipped at the same time. 

Iwaizumi reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the purple and green notes. “I wrote the purple one the other night to prove there was nothing.” He handed them to his friends. “But that green one was there this morning. I swear to god, it just showed up.”

Mattsun stared at the notes with wide eyes. “Holy shit.”

Makki grinned. “Dude.”

Iwaizumi pressed his hands to his temples and squeezed. “My closet is fucking haunted.”


	4. Oikawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that I think Kuroo and Oikawa would be best buddies? I want them to meet in canon.

Oikawa didn’t move from the closet until he heard the front door slam shut. He knew that his stepfather would be gone for most of the day; likely, he would go start drinking somewhere for the entire day and then come home and perform a reenactment of the night prior. 

Oikawa shuddered at that thought. He needed to leave. He needed to not be at his house, not even hiding in the closet, when his stepfather returned. 

Sitting up from the floor, he reached over and fished around in the shadows for the little pocketknife he kept there. He told himself it was for protection should his stepfather ever find out where he hid, but he doubted he would actually be able to use it against the burly man. Instead, Oikawa mostly used it to carve tally marks into the wall where he kept track of the nights he spent in the closet. 

Kuroo told him it was a bad habit and that it encouraged him to keep hiding instead of trying to remove himself from the situation. Oikawa told Kuroo it was the only way he could keep himself sane most days. 

He flipped the knife open with a tiny click, then raised it to the wall and began scraping away. Little bits of white floated down into a pile on the floor, leaving behind a deep, long scar in the wall next to all the others Oikawa had carved. 

Bones groaned and popped as Oikawa uncurled himself and crawled out of his hiding place. He hissed as he straightened, his spine popping in multiple places as he arched. He pressed a tentative hand to his cheek, then winced when pain blossomed underneath his fingertips and throughout his whole face. 

Opening his bedroom door, Oikawa crept down the hallway to the bathroom and locked himself inside. He didn’t cry when he looked in the mirror, though he wanted to. His right cheek was blackened and swollen, and it was a miracle that his eye hadn’t swollen shut. His ear was also bruised and slightly puffy. He recalled with a shiver how his stepfather had clubbed him multiple times just a few hours ago. 

His left cheek had a few shallow scratches on it; he hadn’t even realized his stepfather had done that. There were smaller, little pockets of bruises on his left jaw and neck. At least those would be easy to conceal with makeup. He wasn’t so sure about the one on his right cheek. 

Trembling, Oikawa climbed into the shower and let the hot water run over his sore face. He knew he should put ice on the bruises, try to quell the swelling, but his shoulders and back also ached from the tension and how he’d slept on the floor of his closet. An ice compress would have to wait. 

He washed away the sweat he was always covered in after sleeping in his hiding spot, as well as the tears that had dried and stained his tender cheeks. After creeping back into his bedroom and changing into new clothes, he stuffed his backpack full of essentials and padded quietly down the steps. 

His mother was sitting at the kitchen table cradling her head in her hands. She glanced up when Oikawa moved to stand in the entryway. Upon seeing his face, she gasped and covered her split lips. 

“Tooru.” Her voice, thick with emotion, was muffled from behind her hands. 

The bruises on her face were darker and worse than his, so Oikawa felt a twinge of sympathy for his mother. But he couldn’t help but feel resentment and anger as well; she was letting this happen, after all. He wondered if she knew about all the yellowing bruises that covered his arms and torso, or the ache in his ribs, or the hand marks he so carefully hid from school personnel. 

“I’m going to Kuroo’s,” he muttered. “Please don’t ask me to come home tonight.” 

She shook her head and hung it again in shame. As Oikawa turned to leave, he looked back over his shoulder. “Maybe go stay with nee-san tonight. I love you.”

His mother whispered a broken “I love you, too” back to him as he walked out of the front door. He dialed Kuroo as he stepped onto the sidewalk. Kuroo answered right away.

“I’m on my way,” Oikawa said in lieu of a greeting. “Can I stay the night again?”

“Of course. The door is unlocked, just come in,” Kuroo replied. 

When Oikawa entered the Kuroo home, he clicked the door shut behind him and jogged up the steps as quietly as possible. He didn’t know if Kuroo’s father was up and about, but he didn’t want the kind man to see the state of his face. He hadn’t had time to come up with a suitable lie, even though lying was unnecessary at this point. 

Kuroo’s face flashed through about thirteen different expressions when Oikawa crept into his room. First he looked shocked, then sad, then angry, then desperate, then many more things before finally settling on a mix of devastated and sympathetic. He rose from his bed and wordlessly enveloped Oikawa in a tight hug, squeezing him against his chest protectively. 

The tears that Oikawa had been holding back sprang free, and he sobbed into Kuroo’s shoulder. It hurt to press the tender skin into the hard bone there, but Kuroo’s warmth and strength was welcoming. Oikawa let his emotions run wild for a moment, indulging in the comfort and love that his best friend was offering, even if he couldn’t fix the situation. 

Kuroo coaxed Oikawa over to his bed and sat him down, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. As he left his room, promising to return momentarily, Kenma uncurled himself from the pile of other blankets on Kuroo’s bed and crawled over to Oikawa. He wrapped his slender arms around Oikawa’s shoulders and hugged him too. Oikawa accepted it just as readily as he had accepted Kuroo’s comfort. 

When Kuroo returned, he was carrying a glass of water, a bottle of pain medication, and a box of Rice Krispies treats. He tossed the box onto the bed between the others, then handed Oikawa the water and a couple pain pills. 

“I know Rice Krispies aren’t a part of a balanced breakfast, but today seemed like the kind of day for exceptions,” he said. 

Oikawa swallowed the pills, then opened the box and pulled out a wrapped square. “You shouldn’t give me a whole box. They are my favorite; I’ll eat the whole thing.” He bit into the sticky treat and hummed contentedly. 

Kuroo grinned and patted Oikawa’s hair. “Like I said: exceptions.”

As Kuroo left the room again, Oikawa sighed. “I’ll get fat.”

Kenma opened a treat for himself. “I’ll help you eat them so you won’t get as fat.”

When Kuroo returned for the second time, he was carrying a tube of some kind of cream and a puffy makeup brush. Oikawa was used to this; Kenma’s older sister had been in the theater club in high school. Therefore, she had an almost endless supply of good quality stage makeup. The first time Oikawa had shown up with a bruise-covered face, Kenma had swiped some of the makeup from his sister’s room. Now a bottle was kept at Kenma and Kuroo’s homes. 

Kuroo drug his desk chair over to sit in front of Oikawa. He squeezed some of the makeup onto his finger, then began rubbing it gently over Oikawa’s bruises. 

“What happened?” he asked in a low voice. 

“I thought he would stay passed out, so I didn’t sleep in the closet,” Oikawa mumbled around his second helping of Rice Krispies treat. “He didn’t though, and he found me in my bed.”

“Did he hit you anywhere else?”

“No. I guess I wasn’t very interesting last night.”

Kenma frowned. “Not funny, Tooru.”

Kuroo used the brush to blend the stage makeup. “This has to end, Oikawa. He’s going to kill you.”

“I tried to talk to my mom about it.” Oikawa winced as Kuroo passed the brush over a particularly sensitive spot. “She’s too afraid to do anything.”

“Then we can tell someone,” Kenma suggested. He settled into the spot next to Oikawa and took his hand. Kenma’s hands were always a little warmer than anyone else’s, which always took Oikawa by surprise. 

“I can’t tell anyone. They’ll take me away from my mom if I tell.”

“Maybe you can just move in with me,” Kuroo suggested. He was moving on to Oikawa’s right cheek, which was going to be more work. “We’ll be graduating soon anyway.”

Oikawa frowned. “He might kill my mom if I leave. I think the only reason he hasn’t is because that means he would have to kill me too, because I would tell. I don’t think he’ll risk trying to explain away killing both of us.”

Kenma squeezed Oikawa’s hand. “What if he decides that the risk is worth it?”

Oikawa flinched, but not from Kuroo’s movements over his bruises. He knew that Kenma had a point; eventually his stepfather could decide that he didn’t care and come up with some strange story about how both of them happened to die. And with the kind of power he had in his job (which extended to power over people like Kuroo’s father) there was a good chance he could get away with it. 

Regardless, Oikawa wouldn’t bet against the odds. He felt better knowing his presence in the house was enough to protect his mother even a little bit. A part of him truly believed his stepfather wouldn’t kill them. He was a sick bastard, but he wasn’t that sick.

If Kuroo and Kenma had anything more to say, they kept it to themselves. The makeup did wonders for Oikawa’s bruises, leaving only a little shadow of a bruise on his right cheek that he could easily explain away by saying he bumped into a doorframe or fell while getting out of bed or some other absurd explanation. Kuroo tucked the makeup and brush into Oikawa’s bag for him to take home. 

They spent the rest of the day piled in Kuroo’s bed, watching dumb alien movies and eating the rest of the junk food in Kuroo’s house. Oikawa checked in on his mother occasionally, but she assured him that she was fine and told him to have fun with Kuroo. None of them bothered with homework. 

When Oikawa finally drifted to sleep, he lay sandwiched between Kuroo and Kenma, his face mashed into the pillows. Kuroo was tucked up underneath his shoulder blade, and Kenma was curled into himself like a cat. No part of the whole setup was inherently comfortable, but they made it work.

The sleep Oikawa found was restless. He awoke often, tossing around and facing Kenma, then facing Kuroo, then rolling back to face Kenma. Every time one of them shifted in their sleep, Oikawa was jolted awake by hot fear. He swore each movement was his stepfather reaching out to yank him out of bed by his hair again. 

He dreamt about his mother. She was yelling and screaming, as she often did, but this time it sounded gargled and distant. Oikawa ran through endless hallways, searching and searching but never finding her. He fell to his knees and listened as her screams got more desperate and distant. He started crying.

There was a subtle awareness, even in his sleep, that his tears were real. He lifted his hand to rub them away from his cheeks, but it hurt. A part of him realized that he was dreaming, but it felt like he couldn’t wake himself. The hallway morphed into a dark, small space, and he curled in on himself, trembling. 

Soft hands found their way to his temples and rubbed soothing circles into them. Then the hands were carding through his hair, and Oikawa was pulled from his dark nightmare. Kenma was awake, speaking soft words over Oikawa and comforting him through the fear. Oikawa could feel his heartrate returning to normal, and he turned onto his side and curled himself closer to Kenma. Kuroo shifted behind him and draped an arm over Oikawa, coaxing him even further from his nightmare and back into a place of safety.

______________________

Oikawa stared pointedly at his driveway before approaching his home. Luckily, he doesn’t see his stepfather’s car there, meaning he likely wasn’t home yet. If he was, he would probably have been brought home from wherever he had been drinking and was passed out on the couch.

Stepping into the threshold of his home, Oikawa toed his shoes off and padded into the living room. His mother was there, sitting on the couch and sipping on a mug of tea. She greeted him sweetly, giving him a kiss on the cheek – which he struggled not to shy away from as the press of her lips coaxed sharp pain from his bruise – and asking about Kuroo and his family. 

It always frustrated Oikawa how his mother pretended like their lives were happy and carefree. She acted like her face and body weren’t littered with bruises and cracked skin, like she didn’t cower whenever her husband walked through the door. 

What frustrated him the most, though, was how good his stepfather was at conditioning her to act that way. He didn’t beat on her every night. Sometimes he came home and was kind and thoughtful; sometimes he even brought her roses. He would be kind to them at dinner, and Oikawa knew that he would whisper to his mother about how he would never hurt them again and how he loved them so much. Sometimes Oikawa wondered if his stepfather really meant it. Maybe he was just really sick in the head. 

Kuroo always told him that was just their abused brains making excuses for him because his behavior didn’t make any sense. 

Judging by his mother’s comfort, his stepfather wasn’t home yet. Oikawa was grateful, because it meant he could ready himself for school the next day in peace. He hurried up the steps and deposited his bag on his bed, swapping out overnight clothes and toothbrushes for textbooks and unfinished homework assignments. 

Oikawa inspected his school uniform, assuring himself that it didn’t need to be ironed, then showered quickly. He washed off all the makeup that Kuroo had applied that morning, allowing his pores to breathe some before he would reclog them again before school. He realized he would need to set an alarm for a little earlier than normal so he could “put on his face” for the day. He sighed inwardly and reentered his bedroom. 

Content with the state of his belongings for the morning, he set an alarm on his phone and clicked on Kuroo’s contact information. 

_[Me] Stepdad isn’t here yet!!! Maybe he’ll come home in a good mood_

_[Kuroo] Please call me if he doesn’t. I won’t let that happen to you again_

_[Me] I’ll be ok Tetsu-chan!! Thank you for letting me stay_

_[Kuroo] Anytime Tooru, you know that. I love you_

_[Me] I love you too <3_

Warmth spread through Oikawa’s chest; he wished he could express to his best friend just how much everything he did meant to him. Oikawa believed with all his heart that he wouldn’t have made it through his parents’ divorce without Kuroo’s support. He knew he probably wouldn’t be alive without Kuroo now. 

He clicked off his bedside lamp and prayed that his stepfather would really come home in a good mood. He just wanted to sleep in his bed for once. 

By some miracle, Oikawa’s prayers were answered. His stepfather returned home, but he seemed amicable by all accounts. Oikawa eavesdropped for a bit before settling into bed, texting Kuroo a thumbs up emoji. He was grateful that both he and his best friend could sleep easily.

Apparently, answered prayers only came around once in a while though. The next night, Oikawa put himself to bed at his usual time, but just an hour shy of turning off his lamp and trying to catch sleep, he was startled fully awake by the sound of the front door slamming shut with so much force that he was pretty sure the wall shook. 

He sat up and clambered out of his bed. He could already hear his stepfather screeching about something; Oikawa couldn’t tell what exactly because his words were so heavily slurred. 

With his heart pounding in his chest, Oikawa thrust his closet door open and crawled inside, not daring to turn on the light. He slid the door closed along the track as quietly as possible, then used the light on his phone to guide him into his safe little alcove. He curled into himself, melting into the corner of the closet as best as he could. Like a child, he pulled one of the blankets he used for cushioning over his head, cowering underneath it as he hid from the not-so-metaphorical monster stalking about his home. 

Oikawa almost cried out in fear when his bedroom door was thrown open. It bounced off the wall forcefully, likely leaving a dent in its wake. He slapped his hand over his mouth and tried to calm his breathing, positive that his stepfather would be able to hear his pounding heart through the wall. Not being able to see where the man was lent itself to a special kind of terror that always gripped Oikawa’s chest with icy fingers. He shivered and sunk under the blankets even further. 

Someone, or something, was looking out for Oikawa though. He heard his stepfather shuffle around in his bedroom, cursing under his breath in slurred and sloppy words. He heard something about “ungrateful” and “brat,” then the sound of his stepfather shuffling away. By some miracle, he didn’t hear the raised voice of his mother or a following argument and physical altercation. His stepfather must be too tired. 

Despite this, Oikawa didn’t dare emerge from his closet. With shaking fingers, he texted Kuroo and told him that his stepfather hadn’t come home in a good mood, but he was pretty sure he was safe. Kuroo answered back immediately, as he always did, insisting that Oikawa come over anyway. Despite how badly Oikawa wanted to listen to Kuroo – and this is what he never told his best friend – he was just too terrified to risk moving from his hiding spot. 

Instead, Oikawa promised Kuroo that he would text him first thing in the morning. Kuroo wasn’t satisfied with the answer. In time, Oikawa eventually found himself drifting off to sleep. 

He awoke with a stiff neck, and he groaned as he sat up in his closet. His alarm was blaring on the floor next to him, and he smacked at the screen until the annoying sound stopped. He glanced at his notifications, seeing that he had about fifteen messages from Kuroo. He must not have slept well. 

With a guilty heart, Oikawa opened the messages to respond and assure Kuroo that he was alive and, by some miracle, free of any new bumps or bruises. As he lifted his phone, though, something fluttered off the wall and plopped onto the floor next to his bare foot. 

He assumed it was one of his sticky notes – he really needed to start buying the ones with better glue strips – but he was taken aback when he noticed this one was purple. He didn’t own any purple sticky notes. 

Picking up the square, he examined the writing on it with the light from his phone. 

_Sorry, I’m no alien. Also, aliens don’t exist._

Oikawa choked on his own spit as he threw himself backward and scrambled out of the closet. 

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god!” He held the note up and snapped a picture of it, sending it in a text message to Kuroo. 

_[Me] TETSU MY CLOSET IS HAUNTED!!!!!!_

As per usual, Kuroo responded almost immediately. Oikawa wondered if the boy had some kind of special ringtone for him so he wouldn’t miss his messages. 

_[Kuroo] OIKAWA_

_[Kuroo] I’ve been worried about you being ALIVE_

_[Kuroo] ALL NIGHT_

_[Kuroo] and THIS is what I get in response?!_

Oikawa winced at every ping from Kuroo’s text messages. Even the chime on his phone sounded angry; Oikawa could only imagine how harshly Kuroo was mashing his thumbs against his screen. 

His phone chimed again. 

_[Kuroo] I’m not an idiot. You wrote that. You had better be at school today_

Instead of arguing with his best friend, Oikawa decided it was probably best to simply respond with a thumbs up and pursue the conversation in person. He hurried to ready himself for school, hastily throwing on his uniform and fluffing his hair. Covering up the ugly bruise proved more difficult that he had anticipated; despite his best efforts, the shadow of the wound was still blatantly visible. He only hoped no one would question it much, and whoever did would accept whatever story he would come up with on his way to school. 

He shoved the sticky note in his school bag and crept out of his room. His stepfather was usually gone for work by now, but Oikawa couldn’t trust anything at this point. Luckily, he didn’t encounter the man on his way out, and he was on his way to school without incident. 

Kuroo was standing by the gate with his arms crossed. His hair looked even messier than usual, and there was a deep scowl set into his features. Oikawa pressed his lips together when that scowl was set on him. He trotted across the street and to Kuroo’s side, waving sheepishly. 

Before Oikawa could properly greet his best friend, Kuroo grabbed him and wrapped him in a bone crushing hug. Oikawa froze, blinking slowly. This was not what he had expected. 

When Kuroo pulled away, his eyes were slightly shiny. He sniffed and cleared his throat, then examined Oikawa’s cheek with furrowed brows. This close, Oikawa could see bruise-like circles under Kuroo’s eyes; he clearly hadn’t slept at all the night before. Guilt embedded itself in Oikawa’s chest and made a home there. 

“I’m okay, Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa said softly. “I told you, he didn’t really do anything last night except yell.”

Kuroo huffed. “That doesn’t make me feel any better, Tooru. One day he’s going to kill you.”

The guilt in Oikawa’s chest choked him. There was nothing he could say that would calm Kuroo’s worries, but there was also nothing Kuroo could do to help him. 

Oikawa produced the sticky note from his pocket, hoping he could change the subject. “Look Tetsu. I think there’s a ghost in my closet.”

Kuroo snatched the note from Oikawa and examined it. He handed it back after a moment. “Oikawa, you wrote this.”

“Does that look like my handwriting?”

“You used your other hand. You really expect me to believe a ghost story when I didn’t believe the alien one? Ghosts and aliens don’t exist.”

“Maybe you wrote the note in my closet Tetsu, since you’re so insistent that supernatural things don’t exist.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes. “I’m really starting to become concerned for your mental health.” Then his scowl fell away to a soft grin as he draped his arm around Oikawa’s shoulders to steer him into school. 

The day passed slowly, and Oikawa couldn’t help but stare at the purple square he’d found in his closet that morning. He examined the words and the handwriting every chance he got. The words were messy and sort of blocky, scrawled on the note like it had been written without much care for how little space the person was working with. 

Kuroo chastised Oikawa for obsessing over the note, insisting that he was stress-writing them in his sleep. Kenma didn’t offer much of an opinion, just examined the note carefully. 

That night, Oikawa continued to stare at the note while he sat in the closet. His stepfather wasn’t home yet, but the memory of being yanked out of bed was much too fresh for Oikawa to risk sleeping in it again. 

As he was settling down for bed, he reached over and grabbed his pen and sticky notes. He scrawled out a reply and stuck it to the purple note he’d found. 

_If you’re not an alien, then you’re a ghost. Also, rude! Aliens totally exist!_

He doodled a face with its tongue sticking out and placed them both on the wall and settled down into his nest. That night, he dreamt of a silhouetted figure reaching out to him in his dark room, offering to pull him out of the nightmare he was living.


	5. Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as of right now I am actually finished writing this fic. I just need to edit the last couple chapters. I'll post chapters 6 and 7 on the same day, a few hours apart (like I did with these last two chapters), and then I'll post chapter 8 on it's own day. Yay!
> 
> Anyway, I really like this chapter because we see a little bit more of an emotional side to Iwaizumi. I think he's actually a really gentle guy, just maybe a little rough around the edges, so it was nice to write him having some soft interactions with his parents. 
> 
> Also, thank you all for the comments and kudos so far! It means so much to me, and I love hearing from and responding to all of you who have commented<3

Iwaizumi was absolutely losing his mind. 

There was no other explanation for what he was doing. 

He shook his head at himself as he slid his closet door open and, instead of reaching for his school uniform and getting dressed like a normal person, he crawled to the back of the little room and settled onto the floor. 

Just as he thought, a new tally mark had appeared overnight. Next to it was a new green sticky note, attached to the purple one he had left the night before. On the floor was the slowly growing pile of green and purple sticky notes that had been exchanged. 

The most recent one was on the top of the pile. 

_How did you die?_

He plucked the new notes off the wall. He had responded the only way he could think how: _I’m not dead idiot, you’re dead. How did you die?_

Clearly this ghost had no idea what was going on. However, when Iwaizumi read the new note that had appeared that morning, he second guessed that assessment of his closet friend. 

_Stop being rude. I’m not dead either. If you’re not a ghost what are you?_

Iwaizumi furrowed his brows. How could this person seriously think they’re not dead? Maybe Makki and Mattsun were right: Iwaizumi would have to help this ghost or whatever move on. He sighed and grabbed a fresh note off his pile and scrawled his new message. 

_I’m a living, breathing human being._

There was no reason for Iwaizumi to stay in the closet any longer; he wouldn’t get a response until the day after tomorrow. He had figured out after a few exchanges that he and his ghost – or whatever – friend could only receive each other’s notes overnight. So, tomorrow morning Iwaizumi’s pen pal would receive his message. They would reply that night, and then Iwaizumi would check his closet and find the new response. 

That meant Iwaizumi had to keep himself occupied until Thursday morning. 

He crawled out of his closet and grabbed his school uniform. Makki and Mattsun would ask about the new note when he arrived at school, so he grabbed it and stuffed it into his bag. His friends had figured out his note exchanging schedule, so there was no point in hiding it. Iwaizumi wondered who was more obsessed with the notes: him or his friends?

“Hajime, remember Shimizu-san is coming here for her monthly visit today,” his father said from the kitchen table. 

Iwaizumi grabbed his lunch and nodded. He had forgotten. “I’ll come straight home after school. Have a good day.”

Makki and Mattsun were waiting for him at the gates of the school when he arrived. 

“What did the closet ghost say this time?” Makki asked. 

Iwaizumi handed him the note. Mattsun peered over Makki’s shoulder to read it. 

Mattsun snorted. “He called you rude.”

Makki smirked as he handed the note back to Iwaizumi. “I mean, you are a little brash.”

Iwaizumi scowled. “Shut up. The point is, he doesn’t think he’s dead.”

“Looks like we’ll have to help him move on,” Makki said wistfully. “What a tortured soul.”

“My soul is tortured just hanging out with you,” Mattsun deadpanned.

“Iwaizumi’s attitude is rubbing off on you, Mattsun.”

Iwaizumi elbowed Makki in the ribs, causing him to squawk indignantly and Mattsun to snicker as they entered the school. 

Shimizu was sitting at the kitchen table when Iwaizumi returned home. She was speaking quietly with his father, and their conversation tapered off when they heard Iwaizumi enter. He padded into the kitchen and sat at the table with them. 

Good afternoon, Hajime-kun,” Shimizu said sweetly. 

Iwaizumi nodded. “Good afternoon, Shimizu-san. How was your train ride here?”

“It was pleasant, thank you for asking.” She flicked through a few pages on her clipboard before finding the one she was looking for. “How was school today?”

“It was fine. It’s been getting better.”

“Have you made any new friends?”

“Yes. I’m friendly with most of my classmates.”

“He’s been spending some time with two other boys outside of school,” his father added. “I have yet to meet them, though.” That last comment was punctuated with a pointed look directed at Iwaizumi. 

“What are these boys like, Hajime-kun?” Shimizu asked. She jotted a few notes down on her page as she spoke. 

Iwaizumi shrugged. “They’re nice. I think they’ve known each other for a while because they’re always bickering back and forth. I think they’re pretty funny most of the time. Maybe a little annoying sometimes, but that’s okay.”

Shimizu nodded. “Would you say they’re good influences on you and your mood?”

“I wouldn’t say they’re bad influences.”

With a small smile, Shimizu glanced at Iwaizumi’s father. He took the hint quickly and rose to leave the room. Shimizu set her clipboard on the table and folded her hands together. 

“Your father has expressed some concern about your emotional well-being. He’s concerned that you spend too much time alone in your room when you are home. And he’s worried that your new friends aren’t good influences on you.”

Iwaizumi sighed. “Makki and Mattsun are harmless. We usually just study after school. They’re third years too. As for spending time alone…” _I sit in my closet and wait for a mysterious person to write to me on green sticky notes, and then I write back to them._ “…I guess I just prefer to be alone right now.”

Shimizu’s features softened. “Do you spend a lot of time thinking about your mother?”

“Am I not supposed to?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Hajime-kun. I think you should talk to your father about your grief. You are both dealing with it silently, and you may be surprised to see how much you benefit from talking about your feelings.”

Iwaizumi nodded. “I’ll work on it. And I’ll see about Makki and Mattsun coming over to meet my dad.”

Shimizu smiled and patted his hands. They spent the rest of their session talking about Iwaizumi’s plans for post-graduation and some of his feelings about that. After Shimizu left, Iwaizumi helped his father make dinner. He was chopping up vegetables when his father sighed and leaned against the counter.

“Hajime, I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me about your mother.”

Iwaizumi set his knife down carefully. “I don’t think I can’t, Dad. I just don’t want to see you sad.”

His blunt answer surprised him as much as it surprised his father. Perhaps Iwaizumi should have practiced these conversations with Shimizu. His father’s face fell slightly, and he crossed the kitchen to sit next to Iwaizumi. 

“You don’t need to protect me from my own emotions,” he said softly. “It’s not fair for you to tiptoe around me about this.”

Iwaizumi swallowed the lump that had gathered in his throat without permission. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me either, you know. You don’t have to hide in your office when you want to cry about her.”

His father flinched slightly, then nodded. “I figured you knew about that.”

“And I figured you knew about me pretending I didn’t know.”

His father laughed softly. “Let’s be more open about this from now on, yeah?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “Okay. But you should probably pay attention to the soup; it’s about to boil over.”

With a yelp, his father leapt up and hurried to the stove to lower the temperature. He narrowly avoided spilling hot soup everywhere, and he slumped against the counter in relief. 

“Mom always yelled at you for not paying attention while cooking,” Iwaizumi remarked with a chuckle. 

His father stared at him for a second before laughing heartily. “She did, didn’t she?”

______________________

Thursday morning rolled around with a chill in the air that promised snow soon. Iwaizumi crawled out of bed and immediately entered his closet to find his new note.

Like the promise of the sun rising each day, sure enough a new green note was pasted to the wall. 

_What’s your name, living breathing human?_

Iwaizumi scrawled out his response before readying himself for school. 

_Iwaizumi Hajime._

Saturday morning came quietly, and Iwaizumi almost forgot to look for his note when the pale sun woke him. 

_That’s too long. I’ll call you Iwa-chan._

Iwaizumi scowled.

_Don’t call me that. What’s your name?_

That night, Iwaizumi was awakened by a loud thud. He jumped and looked around frantically in the darkness of his room. With a shaking hand, he reached over and clicked his bedside lamp on. His room was suddenly washed in yellow light, but there was nothing there for him to see besides what was always there. 

_Was I dreaming?_ he wondered. _Is Dad awake?_

He rose from his bed and opened his bedroom door, peering into the hallway. Inky blackness greeted him; there wasn’t even a sliver of light coming from underneath his father’s bedroom door. Iwaizumi listened intently to see if perhaps his father was downstairs, but he heard nothing. 

Returning to his bed, he settled back under his covers and sighed. He must have been dreaming. He reached over to shut off his lamp, but before he could, he heard another thud.

Sitting up straight in bed, Iwaizumi strained his ears to find the source of the strange noise. It didn’t come again, but his heart dropped to his stomach when he heard what he swore was distant yelling. 

He crawled out of bed and pulled the curtains over his window aside. Were there people fighting outside? It was something he had heard often while in Tokyo; he hadn’t really expected it in such a small town. 

There was no one in sight outside, just flurries of snow falling from the black sky. He blinked and scanned the road outside of his house, illuminated by the soft glow of a streetlamp. Nothing. It was empty and silent. 

But he could still hear the distant yelling. There was voices bantering back and forth, one higher pitched than the other. People were arguing. 

Goosebumps covered his arms, and it felt like the hair on the back of his neck stood. Nervousness bubbled in his chest, and it took every ounce of strength he had not to dart out of his bedroom and climb into bed with his father. 

_You’re too old for that, Hajime,_ he told himself. 

All of his resolve almost melted away when the sound of someone crying joined the distant yelling. Iwaizumi turned away from his window and stared at his closet. There was no way the noise was coming from there, but… 

He crept across the room and pulled his closet door open slowly. The sounds didn’t get louder, which he had to admit was a relief. He crouched and listened, though. With a start, he realized that the noises _were_ coming from the closet. 

The nervousness gripped his chest tightly now, and Iwaizumi pushed his closet door shut slowly and crawled back to his bed. No part of him wanted to admit that he was frightened, but he was. There was no logical explanation for the noises he was hearing. However, there was also no logical explanation for the notes in his closet, so perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. 

Iwaizumi shivered and reached over to grab his phone and check the time. When he flipped it over, the screen lit up. 3:39 AM.

He stared at the numbers until the screen went black again, and then he pressed the home button to reawaken it. A not-so-distant memory played in his mind.

_Iwaizumi sat at his mother’s bedside while she slept. Her hands, small and withered from her sickness, were flat on her stomach. He watched as her fingers twitched slightly, and he wondered if it was from pain._

_He reached over and took one of his mother’s tiny hands. The skin was loose and sallow, but it was still soft and smooth to the touch. It was a small comfort that at least that part of her hadn’t changed._

_“Hajime.”_

_He started a bit, even though his mother’s voice was barely a whisper. He looked up and met her tired eyes, now open and staring at him. Despite her sunken cheeks and pale complexion, her eyes were still full of love._

_“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he responded with his own whisper._

_She squeezed his hand with as much strength as she could muster. “You didn’t darling. What time is it?”_

_Iwaizumi glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “It’s a little after three in the morning.”_

_His mother smiled and sighed, rolling to her side slowly. “That explains it.”_

_Iwaizumi frowned slightly. “Explains what?”_

_“Hajime, did you know that there are certain times when the veil is thinnest?”_

_“The veil?”_

_His mother opened her mouth to respond, but it was cut off by a coughing fit. He fetched her some water, helping her sit up to drink it, before she continued. “There are veils between places like our world and the spiritual world. And veils between times. The past, present, and the future aren’t that far apart.” She reached out and pressed her hand to his cheek. “It’s at times like twilight and early in the morning when those veils are thinnest.”_

_Iwaizumi leaned into his mother’s touch. “Okay. But what does that mean?”_

_“It means that, after I’m gone, it’s at those times when I will be closest to you._

Iwaizumi stared at his closet door, the faint sound of someone crying still floating from behind it. He curled into himself. This was one of the times when the veil was thinnest. Did that mean his closet really was haunted? Was he hearing the spirit world? His mother? 

Or was this the past and the future colliding?

He pressed his lips together when another thought occurred to him. 

Was he living in the past or the future?

______________________

Monday morning came quickly, as it always did. As usual, Iwaizumi found a new green note on the wall. He also found new tally marks scratched into the wall.

He couldn’t shake the sounds he’d heard from his closet all weekend. They came mostly in the early morning between three and four; he never heard the noises at twilight.

He crouched and plucked the new note from the wall.

_My name is Oikawa Tooru_

Iwaizumi whispered the name aloud to himself. It rolled off his tongue smoothly. It felt pleasant and soft. He wanted to say it over and over again until he was tired of it, and then say it some more. 

The emotions that bubbled in his chest startled him, and he flopped onto the floor with a huff. Was it affection he was feeling? Longing? That didn’t make any sense; it wasn’t like he even really knew this boy. They were just…interdimensional pen pals or something like that. 

Or he was definitely just losing his mind and he was writing those notes to himself after all. 

He reached over and scrawled out his next note nonetheless. He knew exactly what he wanted to ask, too. 

_Oikawa, sometimes I hear noises at night. Do you hear them too?_

He collected himself and got to school, bringing his new note with him to show Makki and Mattsun. He also told them about the noises he’d heard over the weekend. 

“Wait wait wait,” Makki said, smacking Iwaizumi’s desk with each word. “So now you’re hearing voices?”

“I guess it makes me sound crazy when you say it like that,” Iwaizumi muttered, sinking into his chair. 

“You already sounded crazy my friend,” Mattsun replied, patting Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “But seriously, maybe someone is like, living in your walls.”

“Yes! I saw something about that happening!” Makki nodded excitedly. “It was like, a homeless person living in some tunnels or something in someone’s house. Super creepy.”

“Can we _please_ come check out this closet of yours?” Mattsun pleaded. 

Iwaizumi glanced between his friends, who were both looking at him expectantly and hopefully. He sighed in resignation. His father did want to meet them, anyway. “Fine.”

Makki narrowed his eyes and tapped along the inner wall of the closet. Mattsun stood halfway in the closet, his hands on his hips as he watched Makki investigate. Iwaizumi sat perched on his bed, watching them with a raised eyebrow. 

“I don’t hear any hollowness,” Makki finally reported. “There’s only one way to find out. Mattsun, get the hammer.”

Mattsun spun on his heel to reach for his bag. Iwaizumi jumped off his bed in a panic. 

“Whoa! No! What? You’re not busting through my wall!” He ushered Makki out of the closet and stood in front of it protectively. 

Mattsun and Makki pursed their lips at the same time. They had such similar mannerisms that it freaked Iwaizumi out. 

“Come on, Iwaizumi. Don’t you want to find out what’s going on?” Makki asked. 

“Yes, but not by ripping the wall apart,” Iwaizumi replied. “You’re lucky you’re even here at all. My dad was worried you guys are some kind of delinquents, and if you started busting through drywall, he’ll probably have you arrested.”

Mattsun chuckled. “Maybe we are delinquents.”

Makki held up his hands. “Okay, okay. You have a name now, right? What if we just look up this kid’s name?”

“That’s a much more reasonable solution,” Iwaizumi said. He crossed the room and opened his laptop on his desk, pulling it off the charger and sitting on his bed. Mattsun and Makki joined him and crowded around the computer screen, watching as Iwaizumi typed in Oikawa’s name. 

Much to his surprise, the search actually yielded results. The first things that popped up were social media accounts. Iwaizumi clicked on the links, finding that this Oikawa person apparently had a Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. 

“Someone’s a little vain,” Makki commented with a snicker. 

Iwaizumi scrolled through the other results, finding an article about the same boy who they had found the social media accounts for. The article contained a picture of Oikawa, though he looked younger in it than in any of the profile pictures they had seen. Iwaizumi scanned the text, discovering that it was a picture of middle school aged Oikawa. 

According to the article, Oikawa Tooru was a talented volleyball player during middle school. He was considered an up and coming talent, with exceptional skills in setting. The article simply said that he was likely to have a promising high school career, and it listed the high school he would be attending. 

“That’s why we’ve never heard of him,” Mattsun said as he pointed to the name of the high school. “That’s one of the other schools that you can attend in this area. It’s on the other side of town.”

“Do you think this is the guy who has been writing the notes?” Makki asked. 

Iwaizumi clicked back to Oikawa’s Twitter account. He had a picture of a UFO beaming up a cow as his header. “I think it’s the right guy.”

“You should message him and see if it is,” Mattsun suggested. 

Iwaizumi screwed up his lips. “What if it isn’t? That would be really embarrassing.”

“Only one way to find out,” Makki pointed out. 

“No, I’ll just ask him if that’s his username. I don’t want to freak out some innocent person and look like a total weirdo.” Iwaizumi closed his laptop and set it back on his desk. Then he ushered Makki and Mattsun out of his room and downstairs so he could start on dinner before his father returned from work. 

Wednesday morning, Iwaizumi crawled into the back of his closet to look for his new note from Oikawa. 

_Iwa-chan, don’t listen to the things you hear at night. They’ll give you nightmares_

Iwaizumi frowned and wrote his note back. 

_Do you have nightmares?_

The reply didn’t come until Friday morning. When Iwaizumi read it, he felt as if the breath had been stolen from his lungs. 

_I don’t need to sleep to have nightmares_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine Makki and Mattsun with a hammer. How chaotic


	6. Oikawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting chapter 7 later tonight, and then I will either post chapter 8 on Friday or Sunday (my nephew's birthday is tomorrow and his party is on Saturday so I might be too busy helping my sister with last minute stuff to post on Friday, idk yet)
> 
> Warning: this chapter was the hardest one for me to write because of Oikawa's abuse, particularly the end of the chapter. Therefore, it might be difficult to read. Please do not force yourself to read it if it's too much. I will add a brief summary of the end of the chapter in the end notes if you need to skip the last part of the chapter.

_How old are you, Oikawa Tooru?_

_I’m 17. How old are you Iwa-chan?_

_Seventeen. We’re the same age. When is your birthday?_

_July 20th_

_Ha. Mine’s June 10th. I’m older._

Oikawa smiled softly at the note he had gotten that morning from Iwa-chan. Of course the mysterious boy would feel triumphant over being just a little bit older than Oikawa. It didn’t bother Oikawa though. Honestly, he was glad Iwa-chan seemed happy. 

He wrote out his new note and stuck it to the wall: _I looked you up on social media, Iwa-chan. You look like an angry porcupine_

With a small chuckle, Oikawa crawled out of his hiding spot to start his day. It was more difficult than usual, since his left wrist and right knee were now sporting lovely braces courtesy of his wonderful stepfather. The tumble he had taken down the stairs wasn’t so bad, really, but his knee had taken much of his body weight and his wrist had swelled so badly afterwards that he had taken himself to A&E just to make sure nothing was broken. 

He was lucky. This time. 

Kuroo would be upset when he saw it. Oikawa hadn’t told him what happened, and he knew Kuroo would insist that Oikawa should have called him. And Oikawa wished he had called him this time. The fear he had felt while rolling down the steps was worse than ever before; he would have had a hard time explaining away a broken leg or arm. 

The truth was, though, that Oikawa was so afraid of telling anyone at this point because it didn’t seem like there was anything anyone could do. Oikawa’s mother was tethered to this awful man who was only getting more and more violent by the day; Kuroo’s father was one of his stepfather’s employees, and furthermore indebted to him. If Kuroo’s father said anything, Oikawa’s stepfather would surely ruin their lives. Oikawa couldn’t risk the Kuroo’s livelihood just because he was tired of being slapped around. That wasn’t fair. 

Kuroo would disagree, but there was nothing he could do either. He was just a kid himself. 

Oikawa no longer needed to use makeup to cover any bruises on his face, which was nice because that meant he could sleep in a little bit in the morning. He pulled his button down on, wincing when he had to stretch his arms back. His muscles were sore both from his fall and from sleeping in the closet, though he was used to that soreness.

He was grateful that the weather was getting colder now. That meant he had a viable excuse to wear a long sleeve under his uniform. It also meant no one would see the bruises littering his upper arms, wrists, and stomach when he changed into his sports sweater during physical education. 

He wanted to bother with his hair, he really did, but he was exhausted. When he looked in the mirror at himself, he almost paused to put some of the stage makeup on anyway to conceal the dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t have time, though. He would just have to tell everyone he hadn’t slept well. 

It wasn’t totally a lie. 

Oikawa didn’t even say good morning or goodbye to his mother as he gathered his lunch and left for school. She didn’t look up at him; he supposed it was hard to face the blatant evidence of your kid’s abuse because you refused to do anything to escape the situation. 

He forced those thoughts away. They weren’t fair. She was being hurt too. 

He decided he would ask Kuroo if he could stay over even though it was a school night. 

The walk to school was cold and brittle, punctuated by tiny snowflakes swirling through the air in graceful dances. It hadn’t snowed enough to cover the ground; it was still much too early for that. Some dried, dead leaves clung to the branches of the now dormant trees, the last whispers of autumn before the silence that came with winter. 

Some of the flurries that floated down from the gray sky passed over his cheeks like soft caresses with which he was no longer familiar. Oikawa tucked his face deeper into his scarf and sighed. His breath was warm, and it soothed his throat, which was a little tender. He wondered if he was beginning to come down with something. 

He kept Iwa-chan’s latest note tucked in his pocket, running his fingers over the smooth paper as he walked. It was comforting. He didn’t really know this boy, and he didn’t understand how they were communicating. Clearly Iwaizumi was alive, his social media told Oikawa that. But according to his page and the pictures Oikawa had seen, Iwa-chan lived in Tokyo. 

Kuroo always told him that he was probably just imagining the whole thing. He said that Oikawa must have seen Iwaizumi’s profile and then started projecting; he said it was some coping mechanism to deal with the stress and trauma.

Kenma would just tell Oikawa that he believed him. But he had a feeling that Kenma was just trying to not upset Oikawa any further. Oikawa had stopped showing them the notes a while ago. 

Both of them were standing at the gates of the school when Oikawa rounded the corner. He crossed the street carefully, trying his best to hide the slight limp he now had from his aching knee. 

Kuroo still noticed; he was as perceptive as always.

The look of concern that passed over his face made Oikawa’s chest constrict. He wished desperately that his friends would stop worrying themselves over him, though he knew he wouldn’t stop were the roles reversed. 

Kuroo reached out and hooked a finger under Oikawa’s jaw once he was within reach. He nudged Oikawa’s chin to angle his face up, inspecting the dark circles under his eyes and likely looking for any evidence of makeup-covered bruises. “What happened?”

Oikawa tugged the sleeves of his jacket down subconsciously, hoping that neither boys before him would notice that brace. He could never be so lucky, though, as the movement drew Kenma’s attention to his wrist. Oikawa saw Kenma’s face pale, and then Kuroo was hiking the sleeve up. 

“Oh my god,” Kuroo muttered. He grazed his fingertips over the brace gingerly. “Oikawa, what did he do?”

“I fell down the steps,” Oikawa replied with a quiet voice. 

Kuroo bristled. “You mean he _pushed_ you down the steps.” 

“Kuro.” Kenma reached over and placed his hand on Kuroo’s arm, a hint of warning in his tone. 

Kuroo shrugged Kenma’s hand away and sent him a glare. Kenma glared back. Oikawa watched the silent exchange with mild interest; he wondered who would win this time. Apparently it was Kenma, because after a few seconds Kuroo turned his gaze to the ground and kicked it with a frustrated grunt. 

“The police showed up at the house,” Oikawa continued. He supposed his friends deserved some kind of explanation. “I don’t know why, but they said they wanted to perform a wellness check on me and my mom. My stepfather convinced them that everything was fine. Once they were gone, all hell broke loose.”

All the blood drained from Kenma’s face again as Kuroo snarled. 

“They didn’t ask you or your mom any questions? They didn’t check for bruises?” Kuroo demanded. 

“It’s not like they did a strip search, Kuroo.” Oikawa’s tone was defensive and slightly wounded. It caused Kuroo to deflate a bit. 

Oikawa tried to compose himself and shrugged one shoulder. “They talked to me and my mom in a separate room, but she promised them that nothing was going on.” He sighed. “I think she was just scared. And all the previous bruises were mostly healed, so it’s not like I could even show them had they asked.”

“This is bullshit.” Kuroo clenched his fists like he wanted to punch something.

Kenma wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. “Tooru, I’m so sorry.”

Both Oikawa and Kuroo looked to the smaller boy with frowns. Kenma’s lips were pressed tightly together, and his brows were furrowed deeply. 

“Kenma, it’s not your fault,” Kuroo said softly. 

Kenma shook his head. “No, it is.” He looked up at Oikawa with shiny eyes. “I told my mom what was happening. I thought maybe she could do something because my parents don’t work for your stepfather like Kuro’s dad does. She must have called the police. If I had known…” 

Kuroo reached over and squeezed Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma was visibly trembling now, and his shoulders hunched as if the weight of his self-imposed guilt was crushing him. Oikawa’s heart broke. 

“Kenma, please don’t blame yourself,” Oikawa insisted. He took a step toward his friend and hugged him. Kenma hugged him back tightly. “You were only trying to help. I’m not upset. Thank you for trying.”

Kuroo turned away from them and sighed, his breath visible and floating away into the cold air. After a moment, he turned back and reached out to run his fingers through Kenma’s hair. Kenma seemed calmer now, though he was still frowning and curled in on himself. Kuroo tugged him closer to drape an arm over his shoulders, then he tossed his head for Oikawa to follow them into school. 

The day passed agonizingly slow. During lunch, Oikawa picked at his bento and sipped slowly at the tea Kenma had bought him. Kuroo and Kenma sat close to him, and Kuroo chattered about random things he had seen on the news or social media. Kenma stayed quiet, but Oikawa joined in on the conversation occasionally. He liked the way Kuroo tried to keep things as normal as possible at school. It helped Oikawa build the courage to go home every night. 

“I’m meeting with my dad this afternoon. Can I stay over when I’m done?” Oikawa asked as he, Kuroo, and Kenma walked slowly down the path leading away from the school.

“Of course,” Kuroo answered immediately. “Do we have a science project or an English project? Just so I can keep the story straight in case I see your mom.”

Oikawa thought for a moment. “We just had an imaginary science project. I suppose it’s about time for an English one.”

Kenma snorted softly. “What’s going to happen when you actually have a project?”

Kuroo ruffled his hair. “Just more of an excuse for Oikawa to stay over. Are you staying too?”

Kenma pushed Kuroo’s hand away. “I’ll come over, but my mom won’t let me stay on a school night. She doesn’t think you will keep me from staying up all night to play videogames.”

Oikawa grinned. “She’s not wrong.”

They paused at an intersection where they would part ways. Kuroo eyed Oikawa’s braced wrist, which was mostly hidden away under his coat sleeve now. 

“You should tell your dad,” Kuroo said. His face and tone were solemn. 

Oikawa fingered the brace. He would need to take some pain medication soon if he wanted to pretend like he wasn’t aching all over in front of his incredibly observant father. “I’ll think about it.”

“I think he could really help you,” Kuroo added. He didn’t push any further, though. Instead he just stepped forward and hugged Oikawa tightly. Kenma hugged him too, and Oikawa took a moment to enjoy their warmth. 

He nodded at Kuroo when they separated. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way.” Then he turned and walked away from his friends. 

Oikawa’s father was waiting for him at the restaurant they always met at. Oikawa could see him through the big window, and he tapped on the glass to gain his father’s attention. The man looked up from whatever he was looking at on his phone, and his face split with a wide grin that Oikawa returned enthusiastically. Then he hurried the rest of the way down the sidewalk to enter into the warmth of the restaurant. 

His father was standing already, and Oikawa didn’t hesitate to throw his arms around the man and hug him tightly. His father held him close to his chest and placed a broad hand on the back of his head, securing him there. A moment passed, then his father leaned his head down to press a kiss to the top of his son’s head before they parted and sat across from each other. 

Oikawa pulled his coat off and draped it across the back of his chair, making sure to tug the sleeve of his uniform jacket over his wrist before turning back to his father. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with messy hair before, Tooru,” his father commented with a hearty laugh. 

“Ah, I slept late this morning,” Oikawa replied, tugging at a floppy strand. 

“So,” his father leaned forward and clasped his hands together, “tell me about life.”

Oikawa launched into a retelling of all his latest adventures. He edited and omitted certain information, like his stepfather’s cruelty and the sticky note conversations with Iwaizumi. He did tell his father about Iwaizumi, though; he just referred to him as a long distance friend. It was a half truth. 

He updated him on Kuroo and Kenma, and he informed his father that he was looking at some colleges. His father was pleased to hear this, and he encouraged Oikawa to study hard for his entrance exams. He told him that if he attended a college close to where he now lived, Oikawa was more than welcome to live with him. This idea brightened Oikawa’s spirits, and he took a moment to relish in the idea of living a peaceful life with his loving, gentle father.

A pang of regret shot through his chest when he realized that he could have always been living that life. He had opted to stay with his mother because she didn’t move away from where he had grown up, and he hadn’t wanted to leave his friends and school behind when his parents divorced; if he had known the hell he would have to face because of that decision, he would have gone back in time and moved away with his father in a heartbeat. 

Kuroo’s words echoed in his mind, and he looked down from his father to fiddle with his fingers for a moment. The movement rustled his sleeves, and the one covering his wrist brace slid up. Before he could hurry to conceal it once again, his father reached out and took his hand, turning it over to inspect the brace with a slight frown. 

“What happened here?” his father asked.

Oikawa stuttered and tugged his sleeve down. “I uh…fell. I was playing volleyball and I fell.”

His father sat back in his chair and quirked a brow. “You don’t play volleyball anymore.”

“I was playing with Kuroo and Kenma.”

“Do you play all hours of the night? Is that why you look like you haven’t slept in a week?”

Oikawa swallowed hard. “I told you, I didn’t sleep well. I haven’t been feeling super great. I think I might be getting sick.”

His father stared at him for a long few seconds, and Oikawa watched as his skeptical look slowly morphed into concern. It was so reminiscent of Kuroo’s almost constant expression that Oikawa wondered if maybe they were long lost relatives or something. 

“Tooru.”

His father’s address was soft and gentle. Oikawa looked at him and blinked, knowing without knowing what was coming. 

“You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

He nodded once. Then again. And then he looked at his injured wrist. He had forgotten to take pain medication, and it was throbbing underneath the brace. His knee ached as well, and when he took a deep, shaky breath, his ribs cried out in anguish from the constant bruises that colored his skin. 

“Mom and I need help.” The words came out involuntarily, but once they were out, it all came rushing to the surface. Suddenly, Oikawa couldn’t stop talking. He told his father everything with broken words and rushed breathlessness. It felt as though he needed to get it all out as quickly as possible before his stepfather materialized from thin air and drug him away by his hair. 

By the time he was finally done spilling his heart out, Oikawa was trembling and tears were gathered at the corners of his eyes. “But I guess it will be okay for a few days because he’s leaving for a business trip on Thursday and he’ll be gone for the weekend. So I’ll at least be able to sleep in my own bed for a few nights.” He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. 

He jumped when his father’s warm hands closed around his, and then his father was standing and rounding the table. He crouched and wrapped Oikawa in a tight hug. It was then that Oikawa could feel how his father was trembling as well. 

His father pulled back from him and took his face in his hands, rubbing calloused thumbs over Oikawa’s cheeks. “I knew something was wrong, but your mother would never talk to me. Listen to me, Tooru. You are both coming to live with me. If your mother refuses, there is nothing I can do, but you will not stay there any longer. I won’t allow it.”

“I can’t just leave,” Oikawa whispered. “He’ll know something is wrong. What if he kills Mom?”

“You said you’ve been staying at Kuroo’s. Can you stay there until he leaves on Thursday? Then I’ll come get you and your mother and we’ll leave.”

Oikawa paused and blinked. He could probably do that. Neither his mother nor his stepfather questioned when he stayed at Kuroo’s, though he usually tried not to for long periods of time because it tended to irritate his stepfather enough to bring negative attention. But if Oikawa knew that, at the end of the week, he had an out, a safe place to go and he would never have to return to his stepfather again…

He nodded emphatically against his father’s hands. His father smiled softly and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. Oikawa leaned into it gratefully and hugged his father. For the first time in a long time he felt like he had some hope.

______________________

Kuroo had started crying when Oikawa told him what was going to happen. At first, Oikawa thought perhaps Kuroo was sad that his best friend would be moving away from him, but then Kuroo was smiling and hugging Oikawa like he had just handed him the cure to all known human diseases.

The few days he stayed with Kuroo and Kenma were bittersweet. Oikawa would miss his friends, but he knew that what he was doing was for the best. He refrained from telling his mother anything, opting instead to spring the idea on her Thursday night after his stepfather departed. The chances of her refusing to go were slimmer if she had to make the decision right then and there; also, her ignorance kept her safe. She couldn’t slip up and accidentally tell his stepfather she was leaving if she didn’t know it yet. 

Oikawa would come home in the early mornings after his stepfather had left to grab a few belongings. He was slowly removing himself from the house. He also used that time to respond to Iwa-chan’s sticky notes. He had almost started laughing out loud when he’d read Iwaizumi’s response to his angry porcupine comment. 

_That’s it, I’m calling you Shittykawa from now on_

_That’s vulgar, Iwa-chan. Also, I wanted to tell you that I’m going away for a while. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I won’t be able to talk to you where I’m going_

_Is everything ok? I’ll miss you_

Oikawa pressed his hand to his mouth to conceal the stupid grin that spread across his face, even though no one could see him in the closet. Not talking to Iwa-chan was the thing he was most sad about, but he hoped he would be able to return to the closet someday and talk to him again. Or, better yet, maybe he would just go to Tokyo and find Iwa-chan. He scribbled out his last note to his friend for the time being. 

_Everything is going to be okay, finally. I’ll miss you too_

He stuck the note to the wall, then an idea struck him. He crawled out of his closet and found his school bag. A small keychain hung on the zipper; Kuroo had gotten it for him for his birthday a few years ago. It was an alien holding up a peace sign. Oikawa wondered if objects other than the sticky notes could be sent through the closet. It was worth a try. 

He unhooked the keychain and crawled back into his closet. He grabbed another note and scribbled out his message. 

_I’m leaving my favorite keychain with you so you don’t forget me! Keep it with you until we can talk again!_

He pressed the note to the keychain and placed them gingerly on the floor below his other note. Then he crawled out of his closet, grabbed a few other belongings, and left for school. 

The nerves that gripped his belly and rolled his guts around uncomfortably were worse than he had ever felt them. Even all the times he had hidden in the closet, tucked under piles of blankets, hands pressed over his mouth and nose in an attempt to be completely silent couldn’t compare to how jittery and shaky he felt at this moment. 

The end of the tunnel was in sight, and despite his aching knee and burning lungs, Oikawa was running. He was getting out of this nightmare, and he couldn’t wait to be free of the darkness that had been clinging to him for so long. 

He glanced around his room one last time. There was nothing else he really wanted to take with him; he’d already packed away the most important clothes and the pictures of Kuroo and Kenma that he wanted to keep with him. He’d left a few other important things at Kuroo’s house. Kuroo had sworn that, even if his home caught fire, he would make sure he got those things out before anything else. 

With a final nod, Oikawa turned to exit the room. As he reached behind him to pull the door shut, he thought he heard a harsh thud come from the closet. He paused and looked over his shoulder, listening intently for any other noises or movement. He heard nothing. 

He shook his head to clear his mind and closed the door behind him. He descended the steps and rounded the corner to the kitchen where his mother was sitting, fiddling with her hands nervously. She had two bags on the floor next to her, and she looked up at Oikawa when he entered the kitchen. 

“Are you ready?” he asked her. She nodded and took a shaky breath, and Oikawa crossed the room to press a gentle kiss to her temple. “It’s going to be okay.”

As he pulled out his phone to text his father and confirm that he was on his way, his mother reached over and touched his arm with a gentleness that suggested she was afraid he would pull away. He looked up from his text and gave her a small smile. 

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to do this for us,” she whispered. She looked down at her bags, then back up at him. “I should have done this so long ago.”

Oikawa reached over and took her hand, squeezing it. “It’s going to be okay now.”

A car door slammed shut outside, and both of them looked toward the door. Oikawa glanced at his phone to see if his father had texted him to say he had arrived, but he saw no such text. Perhaps he had just come over without waiting for Oikawa’s text.

His mother dropped her hand and stood suddenly when the front door opened and her husband walked in. Oikawa thought for a moment that his heart had actually stopped, then he wondered if he was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. There was no way his stepfather was home. He had left for his trip hours ago. 

His stepfather walked into the kitchen and dropped his bag on the floor with a huff. “My stupid flight was delayed, so I decided to just reschedule for tomorrow and –” He looked at the bags on the floor, then at his wife, then at Oikawa. “What is happening here?”

Oikawa’s mother opened her mouth to explain, but before she could choke out more than one syllable, she was being backhanded across the face. She yelped and cupped her hands over her face. She was trembling. 

Oikawa didn’t really register what his stepfather was saying. He couldn’t. The blood was rushing too loudly in his ears. This was their chance to get away, and now this monster was ruining it. Oikawa couldn’t let this happen, not when the end of the tunnel was within reach. 

Without thinking about the consequences, Oikawa jumped forward and shoved his stepfather away from his mother. The man was yelling so much that he was red in the face, and the look of shock that crossed his features momentarily gave Oikawa enough satisfaction to last a lifetime. 

It was short lived, however, because suddenly Oikawa was seeing stars. He stumbled and fell against the floor, and panic set in just enough to spur him forward. He crawled into the living room, reaching desperately for his cell phone to call someone. His father. The police. Kuroo. Anyone. 

A heavy foot came down on his hand, and he yelled out in pain, then sputtered when another foot delivered a swift kick to his middle. He coughed and curled in on himself, trying to shield himself. Harsh blows came one after the other without hesitation or mercy. 

They disoriented him, and before long, Oikawa just let himself lay limp against the carpet. He vaguely registered someone screaming his name, and then someone screaming at someone else. He thought he was being carried then, or maybe dragged. And then he was sitting in a chair. 

The chair was moving, and Oikawa groaned and lolled his head over to one side. He saw balls of light flying by. They were so bright that they hurt his eyes, so he closed them and shuddered at the pain that made his body feel like it was on fire. 

His chair stopped moving, and then he was being jostled about again. He was moved into another chair. A heavy slam startled him, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. He felt himself start to move again. He was moving faster and faster, and for a moment, Oikawa wondered if this was safe. 

Then everything came to a sudden halt. Oikawa was lurching forward instead, hitting his forehead harshly against something hard. The last thing his conscious mind registered was the sound of glass shattering, metal crunching around him, and a fleeting thought that he had almost reached the end of this horrible tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the end of the chapter: Oikawa and his mother are on the cusp of leaving, but his stepfather comes home unexpectedly due to a delayed flight. Upon seeing that they are leaving, Oikawa's stepfather reacts violently. Oikawa steps in to try to protect his mother, but it results in his stepfather's rage and violence being turned on him. His stepfather severely hurts him, then transfers him into a car. Oikawa is vaguely aware that the car is moving, and the last thing he is able to process is the car crashing.


	7. Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iwa finds out the truth.

_I looked you up on social media, Iwa-chan. You look like an angry porcupine_

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and chuckled at Oikawa’s ridiculous note. The boy was incessantly immature, but he also had a playfully charming side to him. How or why Iwaizumi would ever think that someone calling him an angry porcupine could be endearing, he didn’t know, but Oikawa managed it. 

He scribbled out his reply: _That’s it, I’m calling you Shittykawa from now on_

With a satisfied grunt, Iwaizumi stuck the note to the wall and crawled out of the closet. He readied himself for school, ignoring the itching feeling in his palm that came when he wasn’t scrolling endlessly through Oikawa’s own social media accounts. 

He had become ridiculously obsessed with learning everything he could about this strange boy. Luckily, Oikawa was very forthcoming about his life on social media, and he didn’t keep any accounts private. Iwaizumi spent all of his lunch breaks, homework breaks, and overall just any free time creeping through Oikawa’s accounts and learning about him. 

Oikawa’s notes were cheerful and bright, like his smiles and status updates, but the lack of any new content for almost a year intrigued (and concerned) Iwaizumi. There was no way this boy would just _stop_ posting his every move so suddenly without any explanation. Iwaizumi supposed he could just ask, but Oikawa never asked him any super personal questions. It felt wrong to be the one to break that wall between them. 

Additionally, the noises that woke Iwaizumi in the middle of the night were getting increasingly disturbing. Sometimes Iwaizumi was sure his father would hear and come running to check on him. Iwaizumi was routinely shaken from his slumber by sobs and angry yells. One night he was even startled awake by what sounded like someone tumbling violently down the steps. He’d gotten up and checked on his father to ensure that it wasn’t actually happening. 

Oikawa had told him not to listen to the noises because they would cause nightmares. Iwaizumi couldn’t be sure, but he had a feeling that Oikawa was in danger. Combing through his social media indicated nothing, but the few posts he’d made closest to the date when his updates suddenly stopped were disconcerting enough for Iwaizumi’s suspicions to grow.

In the posts Oikawa made a few months before his sudden radio silence, his hair was styled, and his clothes were expertly pressed. He smiled brightly at the camera, showing off his perfectly straight, pearly white teeth. Any clothes that weren’t his school uniform were stylish and well fitting. 

The posts closest to his disappearance were a different story. They were few and far between, when before they had been almost daily. Furthermore, he often wasn’t smiling, at least not genuinely. Instead, he was just curling the corners of his lips up in a mock example of a smile. 

His eyes were dull, his school uniform was ruffled and wrinkled, and his hair was messy and flat. For a while it seemed like he had tried to cover the dark circles under his eyes with makeup, but then he had given up. When he wasn’t in uniform, he wore baggy hoodies and sweatpants. 

While Iwaizumi had no reason or right to become so greatly concerned, he couldn’t really stop himself. He didn’t know what, but something was wrong with Oikawa. He needed to find out what. And he had a plan that would get him the answers he needed. 

_That’s vulgar, Iwa-chan. Also, I wanted to tell you that I’m going away for a while. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I won’t be able to talk to you where I’m going_

_Is everything ok? I’ll miss you_

_Everything is going to be okay, finally. I’ll miss you too_

_I’m leaving my favorite keychain with you so you don’t forget me! Keep it with you until we can talk again!_

Iwaizumi hooked the alien keychain to his schoolbag.

______________________

“You’re crazy,” Makki stated. He set his bento down and shook his head. “Absolutely insane.”

Mattsun nibbled on his bottom lip thoughtfully, then sighed. “I have to agree with Makki.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and huffed. “You two wanted to bust down my closet walls and look for homeless people living in my house, but _I’m_ crazy just because I want to go talk to his friends?”

“At least we weren’t stalking people!” Makki insisted. 

“I think it’s a decent idea if you would let us come along,” Mattsun offered. 

“No.” Iwaizumi closed his bento and opened his phone. “No offense, but you two are a little difficult to warm up to. These people are already going to think I’m insane, I don’t need you to encourage that thought.”

Makki feigned offense and Mattsun chuckled. “In our defense, you are pretty insane. I mean, you really think they’ll believe your story?”

“Yeah, we barely believe it still,” Makki added. “Especially because you won’t let us take a hammer to the walls.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes again. “I’m sure Oikawa told his friends about me, just the same way I told you guys about him.”

His confidence dwindled as soon as he saw students begin pouring out of the gates of the other high school in his town. He scanned the small pockets of people that branched off from the crowd, searching for either of the boys he had seen in many of Oikawa’s posts. He had their names memorized, and he had his and Oikawa’s notes tucked safely in his pockets.

Even still, the chances of finding them were slim. The chances of them listening to him instead of calling the police were slimmer still. 

Suddenly, Iwaizumi caught sight of a tall boy with ridiculously messy hair. He walked with slumped shoulders and a deep set frown. Next to him was a shorter boy with bleached blonde hair and outgrown roots. He was following the taller boy out of the gates of the school and across the street. They began walking in the opposite direction of Iwaizumi. 

He took off down the sidewalk, chasing them like a crazy person. “Excuse me! Excuse me!”

The smaller boy glanced up from his phone and met Iwaizumi’s eyes, then turned back to his taller friend and tugged on his sleeve. The taller boy stopped walking and turned slightly to face Iwaizumi. Finally caught up to them, Iwaizumi worked to steady his breathing. 

“Are you Kuroo Tetsurou and Kozume Kenma?” he panted out. 

The taller boy, Kuroo, turned to face him fully and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

Iwaizumi dug into his pockets for the notes. “Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I know your friend Oikawa Tooru.”

Kuroo visibly stiffened, and Kenma pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Iwaizumi fumbled about in his pockets to grab the notes, gripping them tightly so they wouldn’t fly away on the breeze as he pulled them from his jacket.

“I have these notes that he wrote—”

“Are you on drugs or something?” Kuroo interrupted. Then he shook his head and waved a hand dismissively at Iwaizumi. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I don’t have time for this. Go away.”

Kenma stared at his friend with wide eyes as Kuroo turned back on his heel to walk away. “Kuro—”

“Let’s go, Kenma.”

Iwaizumi blinked rapidly. “Wait! Please, I swear. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it’s true.”

Kuroo stopped and scowled over his shoulder. “Look, this isn’t funny. I don’t know who you are, but you need to get out of here.”

Kenma fiddled nervously with his phone between them. “Kuro, maybe we should hear him out. Don’t you remember the notes Tooru talked about?”

“We don’t talk to crazy strangers, Kenma,” Kuroo told him.

“Since when?” Kenma challenged, scrunching up his nose a little. “That’s how you became friends with Bokuto.”

Kuroo sighed. “That’s irrelevant. Let’s go.”

Kenma turned back to Iwaizumi, ignoring Kuroo’s insisting. He held his phone out to him. “I can get your information and we can talk later? We do have somewhere to be this afternoon, but I’m interested in hearing what you have to say.”

Iwaizumi nodded slowly and reached out to take Kenma’s phone. He typed in his name and contact information, then handed it back. He had to admit, he was disappointed that this conversation wasn’t more helpful. He just hoped Kenma wouldn’t completely ghost him after they parted.

Kenma took his phone and began to turn back to Kuroo. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later…” He glanced at the information, probably to get Iwaizumi’s name, but then he froze. He blinked at the text on his screen, then snapped his sharp eyes back up. “Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi nodded slowly again and blinked in confusion. Suddenly, Kuroo was leaning over Kenma’s shoulder to peer at the information with wide eyes. He looked up at Iwaizumi. 

“Iwaizumi Hajime?” he asked slowly. 

“Um…” Iwaizumi stuttered. 

Kuroo straightened. “Are you Iwa-chan?”

He never thought he would find relief in hearing someone call him that name, but Iwaizumi still felt it rush over him like wild waves. He nodded vigorously and shook the notes in his hand in the air. “Yes! Yes, I am Iwa-chan!”

Kuroo looked about thirty seconds away from bursting into tears. “Oh my god, he wasn’t making all that up.”

Kenma stepped forward and held out his hand, silently asking to see the notes. Iwaizumi hesitated for a moment, then handed them over. Kenma flipped through them, showing some of them to Kuroo as he did. Kuroo wiped away a few tears that had gathered in his eyes. Kenma handed the notes back to Iwaizumi. 

“Can you come with us?” he asked. 

Iwaizumi nodded, tucking the notes back into his pocket and following after Kuroo and Kenma. 

He hadn’t expected anything good when he’d found himself at the local hospital upon following Kuroo and Kenma, but he most certainly hadn’t expected to come face to face with the boy he had been speaking to via sticky notes. 

And he especially hadn’t expected said boy to be hooked up to a dozen machines, looking as if he had died a long time ago. 

Iwaizumi stood at the edge of the room and stared at the sunken husk of a human that was supposed to be Oikawa Tooru. His stomach twisted violently, and he worked hard to keep his breathing steady. A monitor beeped steadily in the corner of the room, tracking every beat of Oikawa’s heart and every fluctuation of vitals. 

Kuroo had entered the room slowly and made his way to Oikawa’s bedside. He was standing there now, holding Oikawa’s limp hand.

“You’ll never believe this,” he whispered to the unconscious boy, “but your Iwa-chan found us today. He’s here now.” Kuroo paused like he was waiting for Oikawa to suddenly leap up from the bed and start talking to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Kenma stood next to Iwaizumi and studied him. Iwaizumi pretended like Kenma’s calculated, amber colored gaze didn’t make him want to squirm like a microscopic organism on a slide being inspected under a microscope. 

Kuroo placed Oikawa’s hand on the bed gently, then took a shaky breath and turned to Iwaizumi. “Let’s go into the waiting room. You probably want to know what happened.”

Iwaizumi sat across from Kuroo and Kenma in the small waiting area. There were no other people there, and the nurses were all at their station or milling about the floor to check on patients. 

“First off, how did you find us?” Kuroo asked. He was flipping through the notes that Iwaizumi and Oikawa had been exchanging. 

Iwaizumi sunk into his chair slightly. “I creeped on Oikawa’s social media after he told me his name. You guys were in a lot of his pictures, so I found your accounts too. I figured you all went to the same school since you wore the same uniforms.”

“Good to know that Tooru never kept anything private,” Kenma grumbled. 

“Oikawa had told us about you around a year ago,” Kuroo said. He looked up from the notes, holding up the crumpled alien and Godzilla drawings. “He said aliens drew this Godzilla. And then he said you and he talked with sticky notes through the closet.”

Iwaizumi frowned. “A year ago? But I just moved here a couple months ago. I think I moved into Oikawa’s old house.”

Kuroo frowned back. “Oikawa has been in a coma for almost a year.”

Not that anything had made sense before, but now nothing made any sense to Iwaizumi. He tried to process what Kuroo was telling him, but it seemed totally impossible. 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Iwaizumi finally said, “but can you tell me what happened to Oikawa?”

Kenma and Kuroo exchanged glances, then Kuroo swallowed and sighed. He placed the notes all back together and handed them back to Iwaizumi, then clasped his hands together in his lap.

“I’ll tell you what everyone thinks happened. And then I’ll tell you what _actually_ happened,” Kuroo muttered. He sucked on his bottom lip for a moment, clearly trying to gather up the courage he needed to tell Oikawa’s story. 

“Oikawa’s mom remarried a man a couple years ago. Oikawa told me that after they got married, he wasn’t as nice as he had been, but it was mostly just little verbal things. Then, his stepfather started coming home drunk all the time, and then he started beating Oikawa’s mother.

“After a while, his stepfather started hitting him too. Oikawa used to hide in the closet so his stepfather couldn’t find him. About a year ago, it was starting to get really bad. It was escalating, so Oikawa ended up telling his biological father about what was happening. His dad wanted them to leave, and they were going to while his stepfather was away on a business trip.”

Kuroo took a shaky breath before continuing. “What Oikawa’s stepfather will tell you is that he came home, and Oikawa and his mom were about to leave. He’ll tell you that he begged them to stay, and that Oikawa’s mom agreed. He’ll tell you that Oikawa got mad and screamed at them, then left the house and took the car. He’ll tell you that Oikawa drove away, and in his anger, he wasn’t paying attention, so he crashed the car in a ravine down the road.”

Kuroo’s mouth morphed into a vicious snarl. “The _truth_ is that Oikawa’s stepfather came home and became so enraged that he beat Oikawa half to death. And then he was afraid someone would find out what happened, so he made it look like Oikawa got into a car accident. The damage done to his body was not consistent with the car crashing into the ditch. But everyone believed him because Oikawa’s mom backed up his story.”

Iwaizumi stared at Kuroo in horror. Suddenly, so many things made sense. The noises. The way Oikawa looked in his social media pictures. The car crash Mattsun had mentioned and Iwaizumi had read about. The balloon ribbon tied to the rock in the ravine. He shuddered. “Why would his mother lie for his stepfather?”

Kenma sighed. “Fear, probably. We don’t really know. But they moved away and now his mom barely visits. If she does come, Tooru’s stepfather is with her. She just tells people that it’s too hard to see Tooru like this, so that’s why she doesn’t visit often.”

“Oikawa’s biological dad tried to get people to investigate, but everyone just thinks he’s trying to get back at his ex-wife,” Kuroo added. “And obviously we can’t ask Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi clenched his fists. “But you guys knew, right? You knew what was happening? Why didn’t you say anything? How could you just let Oikawa live in that and do nothing?”

Something flashed in Kuroo’s eyes. Something like rage and guilt. “I tried!” He clenched his fists too and went to stand up, but Kenma stopped him. Kuroo settled into his chair and choked on a sob. 

“Kuro’s father works for Oikawa’s stepfather,” Kenma explained. “He had gotten Kuro’s family out of some debt, and even if Kuro’s dad tried to tell, Oikawa’s stepfather probably would have ruined their lives. I told my mom, and she tried to do something, but it only resulted in Oikawa getting thrown down the steps.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi breathed. Kuroo looked absolutely crushed, and it made Iwaizumi’s chest tighten. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Oikawa is my best friend.” Kuroo’s voice was thick with tears. “I would have done anything for him. I told him to call me, but he never did. I would have let him move in with me, or I would have helped him run away, or I would have gone with him to the guidance counselors at school or the police or anyone. I begged him to just call me so I could help him, but he never called.”

Kuroo stood and hurried down the hall, disappearing into a bathroom. Kenma stood to follow him but paused and turned back to Iwaizumi. 

“I don’t understand how you and Tooru managed to find each other or talk to each other when he’s been in this coma,” he began slowly, “but sometimes things happen that we can’t explain. I think you ended up in his old house for a reason. The anniversary of his accident is tomorrow. Kuro and I couldn’t do anything to help him, but maybe it’s not too late for you.”

Kenma turned away and jogged down the hall, entering the bathroom after Kuroo. Iwaizumi stared at the empty space for a moment, mulling over Kenma’s words, then stood and entered the room where Oikawa lay. 

He approached the side of the bed slowly, stopping to examine Oikawa’s features up close. He was a ghost of the person Iwaizumi had seen in the pictures; his cheeks were sunken, his skin was pale and sallow, and his hair was a dull, dingy brown. Iwaizumi felt his heart break for the millionth time that day, and he reached out to take Oikawa’s hand the same as Kuroo had done. It was cold and heavy in his, and Iwaizumi shuddered at how it reminded him of his mother’s hands as she lay dying. 

Tears welled in his eyes, and Iwaizumi turned his head to rub his face against his shoulder. He turned back to Oikawa. “I don’t know how, but I’m going to help you, okay? So don’t go and do something stupid like die, Shittykawa.” He gave Oikawa’s hand a gentle squeeze, then set it down on the bed and left the hospital.

______________________

When his father found him in his closet, scribbling note after note, trying to communicate to Oikawa what had happened that day, Iwaizumi couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation. His father just stared at him with a deep frown, then walked away.

Before he knew it, Iwaizumi was sitting on an emergency videocall with his father and Shimizu. Iwaizumi tried to explain how he had found out about Oikawa’s accident, but his father had cut him off to explain how he had found his son in the closet, furiously writing on sticky notes like a lunatic.

Iwaizumi had no say as his father explained the situation. He just sat quietly and watched Shimizu’s face as she listened intently. When his father finished waxing poetically about how concerned he was for his son, Shimizu turned her attention to Iwaizumi. 

“Hajime-kun, do you have anything else to add?” she asked. 

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Nothing that you’ll believe.”

There was the sound of papers ruffling on Shimizu’s end. “Believe it or not, Iwaizumi-san, what your son is doing is completely normal.”

Father and son gawked at Shimizu through the webcam. 

“You can’t be serious,” his father muttered. 

“I am completely serious,” Shimizu replied. She offered a small smile. “See, you and your son have experienced a very traumatic loss recently. Hajime watched as his mother withered away, and there was nothing he could do to help her. Now, he finds out about a boy who used to live in your home has been in a terrible accident.” 

She paused as she turned her attention to Iwaizumi. “Hajime, you’re trying to save someone else because you couldn’t save your mother.”

If he hadn’t just held Oikawa’s limp hand in his that afternoon, Iwaizumi may have taken Shimizu’s words and tucked them into his brain for comfort. He may have sighed in relief, thanked her for assuring him that he wasn’t losing his mind and that a little more therapy will help him overcome this hurdle in the grieving process. 

But he _had_ held Oikawa’s limp hand in his that afternoon. And he had spoken to Oikawa’s two best friends, learned the truth, and gotten the confirmation that he wasn’t just stress-writing notes to himself. Not only that, but Kenma had all but begged him to do something to help Oikawa. 

He couldn’t say any of these things, lest he get locked away in a hospital and lose his chance to save Oikawa’s life. So, instead of arguing, Iwaizumi nodded and hung his head as if he were ashamed. He even managed to squeeze a few tears from his eyes and explain how badly he missed his mother. 

Shimizu and his father bought the whole thing, probably because it wasn’t totally an act. Iwaizumi did miss his mother. He missed her desperately. But he had something he needed to do, someone he needed to help, and even if he was just trying to save someone because he couldn’t save his mother, he wasn’t about to pass the chance up. 

Shimizu strongly recommended that Iwaizumi stay out of the closet and cease writing the notes in favor of finding a more suitable coping mechanism. Much to his disappointment, his father confiscated his sticky notes, as well as pretty much every piece of paper he owned and all of his pens. Iwaizumi was left with no way to warn Oikawa any longer, and he only had one more day to do something. 

He had tried. He really had. He had brought paper and pens home from school, and he had tried to sneak them into his room without his father knowing. But his father had come home early from work and taken his school bag, insisting Iwaizumi do his homework downstairs. 

The urge to argue was strong, but Iwaizumi bit his tongue and settled. If he argued with his father, nothing would get solved. In fact, he would waste precious time trying to figure out what he could still do to save Oikawa’s life. 

That night, Iwaizumi sat on his bed and stared at the open closet. He had turned his room upside down in search of something, _anything_ he could use to warn Oikawa. But it was too late anyway, because even if Iwaizumi managed to leave a note, Oikawa wouldn’t see it until the morning. And by then it would be too late. 

He flopped back on his bed and let tears of frustration roll down his cheeks. If what he was doing was normal, then why had Shimizu told him to stop? Granted, she had said “normal,” not “healthy,” but still. Maybe if he had just been honest and upfront, they would have let him keep talking to Oikawa. 

He sat up and grabbed his empty school bag. The alien keychain was still there, attached to the zipper. He held it in his hand; it was the last thing he had gotten from Oikawa. It was all he had left, aside from pointless notes that couldn’t help the boy anymore. 

Iwaizumi thought of Oikawa laying in that hospital bed, his only regular visitors Kuroo and Kenma. It was unfair, especially when he had been so close to doing something. He didn’t know if he could face Kuroo and Kenma again, knowing he had failed to help Oikawa too. 

He closed his eyes and pictured his mother. She would have believed him. She would have encouraged him to help, to do whatever he could to make a difference in Oikawa’s life. 

A thud startled him. His eyes shot open, and he saw his father walk down the hallway.

“Sorry, I dropped the book I was holding,” he called out. 

Iwaizumi frowned. His father was acting like everything was fine. If only he knew how desperately upset his actions had made his son. 

However, the thud the book had made was strangely reminiscent of the noises he had heard from the closet for so many nights. It wasn’t between three and four in the morning, but… 

Iwaizumi looked outside. It was twilight. That was the other time when the veils were thin. Maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance. 

Without wasting another moment, Iwaizumi launched himself off his bed and into the back of his closet, throwing totes and bins out of his way to reach the nook where Oikawa’s tally marks still sat carved into the wall. 

Iwaizumi dropped to his knees and pressed his hands flat to the wall. He had one chance, only a few minutes, to make a difference. 

“Oikawa!”


	8. Oikawa & Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so tired but I wanted to update this tonight because I'm excited to finish it. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the love and support this story has gotten! It means so much to me - I love all your comments.
> 
> @thestarsage, this is for you <3

He glanced around his room one last time. There was nothing else he really wanted to take with him; he’d already packed away the most important clothes and the pictures of Kuroo and Kenma that he wanted to keep with him. He’d left a few other important things at Kuroo’s house. Kuroo had sworn that, even if his home caught fire, he would make sure he got those things out before anything else. 

With a final nod, Oikawa turned to exit the room. As he reached behind him to pull the door shut, he thought he heard a harsh thud come from the closet. He paused and looked over his shoulder, listening intently for any other noises or movement. He heard nothing. 

He shook his head to clear his mind and closed the door behind him… 

Someone screamed out his name. 

“Oikawa!”

Oikawa stopped and turned, pushing his bedroom door back open. He listened carefully. He hadn’t imagined that, had he?

He heard another thud, one that definitely came from the closet, then: “Oikawa!”

Confusion swirled around him, but Oikawa rushed to his closet door and flung it open. There was no one inside that he could see, but he still crawled into the back.

“Oikawa! Are you there?”

It sounded as if the person calling out to him was right next to him. Oikawa jumped violently and looked around the dark space. Where was the disembodied voice coming from?

“Tooru!”

Oikawa started again. “H—” His voice caught, and he coughed. “Hello?”

“Oikawa! Can you hear me? It’s Iwaizumi!”

“Iwa…” Oikawa blinked as the space next to him was suddenly filled with another person. This boy was facing the wall, his hands splayed out flat against it. His figure was almost transparent, but Oikawa could still see him. It was like he was looking at a projection of him. “Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi spun around on his knees. Their eyes locked, dark green and chocolate brown, and it felt like time had stopped completely. Oikawa breathed lowly through slightly parted lips, staring unblinking at the boy he’d only seen pictures of. Iwaizumi stared back, breathing heavily as though he’d just been running. They drank each other in, lost in the simultaneous disbelief and delight at finally coming face to face. 

And then Iwaizumi was laughing. 

“Oh my god it worked!” he cried. He was beaming. Then he shook his head rapidly. “Oikawa listen to me! Call Kuroo! You have to call Kuroo, okay?”

Time started moving again. 

There was a shout from far away, and Iwaizumi looked to his side as if someone had called out to him. He looked back to Oikawa, urgency carved into his features. “Promise me that you’ll call Kuroo.”

Oikawa blinked, sure that Iwaizumi’s figure would fade away if he blinked enough times. But he didn’t. 

“I… Iwa-chan, what’s going on?” he stuttered. He sat up and reached forward, trying to touch Iwaizumi, but then he stopped. 

“Oikawa just promise me!” Iwaizumi’s voice was desperate. “I’m running out of time; the sun is setting. Please, please promise me. Promise that you’ll call Kuroo.”

Someone was shouting Iwaizumi’s first name, and he was starting to fade away. Oikawa stared into Iwaizumi’s wide green eyes, which were full of fear and concern and…determination. 

Oikawa nodded. “I’ll call Kuroo.” 

Iwaizumi was almost gone. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

The smile that spread across Iwaizumi’s face was the most beautiful thing Oikawa had ever seen. He wanted to capture that smile and save it forever, keep it all for himself, and never let anyone take it away from him or Iwaizumi. 

“I’ll see you soon, Shittykawa.”

Iwaizumi’s words were just a whisper in the empty space. Oikawa stared at the spot he had occupied just seconds ago. Had he dreamt that? Had he imagined it? Was Kuroo right? Was he so stressed that he was starting to hallucinate now?

A car door slammed outside, snapping Oikawa out of his daze. He pulled his phone from his pocket. He didn’t have any text messages from his father, so it couldn’t be him who was now entering the house. 

Ice crawled down Oikawa’s spine as he heard the unmistakable shout of his stepfather. No, there was no way he had come home. Not when they were so close to finally getting out, to finally reaching the end of the tunnel. 

Oikawa leapt up and made to step out of the closet, to rush down the steps and finally confront the man who had been terrorizing him and his mother for too long. He’d had enough, and he was going to end it now. 

He froze. 

_Promise that you’ll call Kuroo._

Oikawa had promised… 

Who had he made that promise to? 

He stared at the floor of the closet. He had just made the promise, he knew that. But who had he promised? Was it Kuroo? No. Kenma? No. 

A yelp came from downstairs. His mother. Fear and anger bubbled up in him, and Oikawa wanted desperately to run down there. He was tired of hiding. 

But he had promised. 

He opened his phone and tapped on Kuroo’s name. It barely rang before Kuroo answered. 

“Oikawa? What’s going on?”

Oikawa sank down to the floor and pressed himself into the corner. “He came back,” he whispered into the phone. “He came back and he knows we’re trying to leave.” He heard a crash from downstairs, and an involuntary whimper escaped his throat. “Kuroo, help me.”

Oikawa didn’t know how Kuroo managed to call the police without hanging up on him. Perhaps Kenma had been with him. He didn’t really know, nor did he bother asking.

His stepfather had come into his room and found his hiding spot. Every part of Oikawa had wanted to actually use the knife he kept there in case that ever happened, but he just wasn’t strong enough. 

He was almost sure his stepfather would have killed him if he hadn’t called Kuroo. However, Kuroo and his father had arrived before the police did. Kuroo’s father had wrestled Oikawa’s stepfather off him, and Kuroo had rushed Oikawa out of the house, using his own shirt to staunch the bleeding from Oikawa’s nose. 

The rest was too much of a blur for Oikawa to really know every detail of what had happened. The police had arrived. His stepfather had been arrested. Oikawa and his mother had been taken to the hospital. Oikawa’s biological father had shown up and held both of them. 

Kuroo had cried when he was alone with Oikawa. He had hugged Oikawa and thanked him for finally, _finally_ calling him for help. Oikawa had told him that he didn’t know why, but something had made him do it. He had made a promise to someone, but he couldn’t remember who or when. 

Kuroo and Kenma had accepted this explanation with little argument. 

“You’ve been acting so strange anyway these last few weeks,” Kenma had explained. 

“Maybe you promised your closet ghost,” Kuroo had added jokingly. 

Oikawa had laughed with them. He didn’t know what had been so significant about the notes to him, but perhaps they were right. Maybe, in his stress, he had made a promise to himself that he would finally call Kuroo. 

Either way, it didn’t matter. It was over. He had finally made it to the end of the tunnel. 

A few months later, Oikawa and his mother moved out of that house full of nothing but bad memories. They left those memories behind.

______________________

Makki and Mattsun were standing, huddled together, near the entrance of the school. They lifted their hands in greeting when they saw Iwaizumi, both grinning from ear to ear.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Makki cooed, draping his arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulder once he was close enough. 

Mattsun knocked the arm away and swatted at Makki. “Stop mocking him! It’s not funny to joke around about things like that.”

Iwaizumi shooed both of them out of his personal space and smiled. “It’s fine, seriously. It wasn’t even that bad.”

Both Makki and Mattsun frowned and exchanged glances. 

“So…” Makki started. 

“Do you wanna talk about it or…” Mattsun finished. 

“I mean, there’s nothing to say really,” Iwaizumi responded. He hiked his school bag further up his shoulder and started walking toward their classroom. Makki and Mattsun followed diligently. 

“We just don’t want to be rude or insensitive,” Mattsun explained. 

“That’s the most respectful and normal thing either of you have ever said to me,” Iwaizumi chided as he entered the classroom and dropped into his normal seat. A few other classmates glanced his way, and a few even waved at him. He waved back, then turned his attention to his bumbling friends.

“Don’t worry about it. I had a breakdown, that’s all it was. I was really stressed and not handling my emotions well, so it kind of all came crashing down at once.” He shrugged. “It happens, but I’m better now.”

After a short stay in the psychiatric unit at the local hospital, Iwaizumi was finally returning to school and “normal” life. His father had pulled him, kicking and screaming, out of his closet two weeks ago. Truthfully, Iwaizumi didn’t remember much of that night, just that he felt helpless and frightened and like something very bad was happening that he had to stop. 

His father had admitted him that night. It ended up being good for Iwaizumi, as he got some focused time to talk about and grieve his mother. He also grieved what felt like a lost friendship, but he couldn’t place quite where that was coming from. All he had to show for it were some sticky notes that didn’t make any sense to him anymore.

He wasn’t sure if they had ever made sense to him, honestly. 

Iwaizumi still saw Shimizu, though he was continuing his therapy with a local therapist so there wasn’t so much distance. He felt better now; he could talk about his mother without a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t cry himself to sleep over her most nights. 

Makki and Mattsun had remained his close friends despite his breakdown, which Iwaizumi hadn’t expected but was infinitely grateful for. Coming back to school was a source of anxiety for him, but finding his always-smiling, playful friends waiting for him had eased some of the tension. 

“We’re glad you’re back,” Makki said, giving Iwaizumi a genuine smile. 

They both launched into a joint retelling of all the fun and gossip Iwaizumi had missed in the couple weeks he had been absent. Iwaizumi listened joyfully, laughing with them and at them. For the first time since he had moved to the little town he and his father called home, Iwaizumi actually felt normal. 

“How much extra work do you have to catch up on?” Mattsun asked as Makki pulled the door to the café open. “I could tutor you if you need some help.”

The three of them hurried inside, trying to escape the chilled winter air as quickly as possible. Iwaizumi pulled his gloves from his hands and stuffed them into his coat pockets. 

“I actually didn’t miss much,” Iwaizumi replied. “The school sent my work to the hospital and the teachers there helped me stay on track. But if I have any questions, I’ll be sure to ask you.”

Makki scuffed his snow covered shoe on the floor. “Just don’t ask us about mathematics, because we both fall asleep during most of the lessons.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “I could probably miss a month of school and still know more about our mathematics lessons than the two of you combined.”

They crossed the café and approached the counter, Makki and Mattsun bickering quietly over the best holiday drinks to get. Iwaizumi simply ordered his usual black coffee, taking it from the barista and cupping his chilled hands gratefully around the warm paper cup. 

He scouted a table for them to sit at and do their work, dropping his bag next to a chair while he shrugged out of his coat. Makki and Mattsun were still by the counter waiting, so Iwaizumi began to pull his schoolwork from his bag. 

A loud laugh echoing around the café caught his attention. He honestly thought it was Makki or Mattsun, but it sounded just a little too far away. He glanced up, locating its source with little effort. 

Across the room, situated by the big windows overlooking the street, sat three other teenage boys. They looked to be about his and his friends’ ages, but their uniforms were those of the students who attended the other local high school. 

The boy who was causing the ruckus was a lanky, dark haired boy. His hair was an absolute nightmare; a true bird’s nest of a hairstyle. He was clutching his midsection, barking out a harsh, open mouthed laugh over something one of the other boys was showing him on his phone. One of his companions, a smaller, blonde haired boy, was covering his mouth and shaking his head at his friend’s obnoxious display. 

The boy who was holding the phone had his back to Iwaizumi. He was laughing, too; Iwaizumi could tell by the way his slim shoulders shook slightly. His brown hair was styled and bouncy, and the very air around him seemed lighter. 

Iwaizumi stared for much longer than he should have. The dark haired boy finished his laughing fit, wiping away at a few tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. As he did so, he noticed Iwaizumi’s gaze. The boy’s grin morphed into a curious purse of his lips, and he raised a brow at Iwaizumi. 

Looking away quickly, Iwaizumi pretended like something on his homework was suddenly incredibly interesting. He pretended like he didn’t notice the other two boys take interest in him, the brown haired one twisting in his seat to look at him. 

He also pretended like something akin to vague recognition of these boys wasn’t tugging at the back of his mind. He had never met them before, of that he was sure.

Makki and Mattsun joined him a few seconds later, and the piercing, calculating gazes from across the room fell away as Iwaizumi’s friends blocked their line of vision. He sighed inwardly in relief, but he still caught the brown haired boy glancing over his shoulder from the corner of his eye. 

Iwaizumi threw himself into his schoolwork. Despite having not fallen too far behind, he still had a lot to study for if he wanted to do well on his upcoming college entrance exams. Makki and Mattsun, as usual, goofed around more than they studied. But eventually they got serious, and the three of them sat in relative silence as they worked. 

His coffee cup was empty when Iwaizumi picked it up to take another drink. He frowned at it as if it had personally wronged him, then stood to go purchase another. His shoulders were a little achy from sitting hunched over his mathematics textbook, so he took the time he had while waiting in line to stretch. 

As he did so, he accidentally bumped his shoulder against someone else who was breezing past him. He turned hurriedly to apologize to them. 

And came face to face with the brown haired boy from across the room. 

Iwaizumi could pretend like they hadn’t caught each other’s eyes repeatedly in the time their groups had been sitting there, but the truth was that they had been playing what felt like a game of cat and mouse ever since Iwaizumi had first sat down. 

He had inwardly denied this other boy’s familiarity the entire time. He’d told himself that from across the room he couldn’t have been sure, but up close like this he was; something was strangely familiar about him. The boy before him seemed to think the same thing, as he was clearly examining Iwaizumi now that they were in close proximity. 

“Um…” Iwaizumi stuttered. He cleared his throat. “Sorry for bumping into you.”

The brown haired boy blinked, then grinned widely and flapped his hands in front of him. “Oh, no! That’s alright! I really should watch where I’m going.”

Iwaizumi pressed his lips together and searched his brain for something else to say, but he found nothing. So he opted instead to just nod slowly, likely making himself look like a fool, then turn to move up in line toward the counter. 

The other boy hovered there for a second, then took a few steps away. In his peripheral vision, Iwaizumi saw him pause and his messy haired friend give him a strange look. Then the brown haired boy turned back and approached him once again. 

“I’m sorry,” he began nervously. He shoved his hands in his pockets as Iwaizumi turned back to him, but the slightly taller boy wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he was gazing past him. He blinked a few times, then lifted a hand from his pocket and pointed at the table where Makki and Mattsun were still studying. “Um… That alien keychain on your bag. Where did you get it?”

Iwaizumi turned to look at his bag, which was flopped over on the floor of the café. Sure enough, the alien keychain that was attached to his zipper was on full display. Iwaizumi furrowed his brow at it slightly, then turned back to the strangely familiar boy. 

“I don’t really know,” he replied. “I just kind of have it.”

“Oh,” the boy quipped. He grinned and scratched the back of his neck. “I was just wondering because I used to have one just like it. But I lost it. Not that I’m saying you took it!” He waved his hands about nervously. “No, I just mean I was wondering where you got it because then I could go there and get a new one. See, my friend got it for me for my birthday and I feel sorta bad that I lost it.”

Iwaizumi blinked at him, then walked away from his place in line and to his bag. He quickly unhooked the keychain from the zipper, pacing back over to the now puzzled looking boy. He held the keychain out to him. 

“Here, you can have it,” he said. “Like I said, I don’t really know where I got it anyway. It would have more sentimental meaning for you.”

The boy hesitated, staring with wide eyes at the keychain. “Are you…sure?”

Iwaizumi nodded and smiled. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Godzilla is more my thing anyway.”

With a sweet smile, the boy reached out and took the keychain out of Iwaizumi’s hand. In the brief moment that their skin barely grazed each other, it felt like something passed between them. It wasn’t quite electricity. It was more a flash of light; some realization that they hadn’t known they were trying to make. 

It was the feeling of _finally_ finding something you had lost after searching for what felt like forever.

They both paused, staring at their hands with scrunched noses. 

The brown haired boy dropped his hand and tipped his head just slightly. “Have we met before? I feel like I know you.”

Iwaizumi dropped his hand too. “I don’t think so. But you seem familiar. What’s your name?”

“My name is Oikawa Tooru.”

_Oikawa Tooru_

A wall broke in Iwaizumi’s mind. Memories flooded in. 

_Oikawa Tooru_

He remembered screaming that name in his closet, banging on the walls as his father drug him away. He remembered writing note after note, grinning over the playful things Oikawa had said. He remembered trying – and failing – to ignore the growing affection he’d felt for a boy he had never physically met. 

Iwaizumi pointed to himself, uncharacteristically excited, a silly smile plastered on his face. “I’m Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Oikawa’s expression was blank for barely a second, then his eyes lit up with recognition and he smiled the brightest and most beautiful smile Iwaizumi had ever seen. 

_Iwa-chan_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story inspiration and title credit: [Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men](https://open.spotify.com/track/2ihCaVdNZmnHZWt0fvAM7B?si=xpVk_E7ITmuV7bNkk0z2-w)
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@iliura](https://iliura.tumblr.com/)
> 
> <3


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